The Will to Power
by xcaliber234
Summary: With his destiny fulfilled, Darion Octavias, The Dragonborn, has spent his days roaming Skyrim. However something is awakening within him. Not a desire for riches or for fame, but for what the Dragons are meant to do. Dominate. But his hunger is great, and there is only one thing that will satisfy it. Following in the footsteps of Tiber Septim, and conquering all of Tamriel.
1. Book 1: War in the North: The beginning

Chapter 1: Domination

_"Long has the Storm Crown languished with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath we bestow it to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atomora of Old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North. Hearken to it." _

The words of the Grey Beards echoed through Darion's head over and over again, his mind analysing words like _Storm Crown_, _Kyne_, _Shor_, and _Ysmir_. Each were powerful names. Names that the Nords worshipped in their vast and sometimes confusing pantheon.

He sat there in the Old Hroldan inn, a plate of bread and cheese in front of him along with a cup of alto wine. Beside him sat Lydia, who chewed hungrily into her venison, and drank heartily from a large mug of mead. They both wore long black cloaks, that had had dried and warmed over the fire before donning them again. When they had walked in the cloaks had been completely soaked through, having had only just managed to make it to the inn high in the Reach before the worst of a great thunder storm hit. Raindrops pelted the roof like rocks and thunder rolled overhead imitating the roar of a dragon. Though perhaps that had just been wishful thinking on Darion's part.

When they had arrived the inn had been empty save for the owner Eydis and her son Skuli. However as the storm pressed the peace and quite that Darion normally enjoyed with quickly disappeared as traders, wandering sellswords, and shepherds all piled into the inn, all of them drinking and eating merrily as they waited for the storm to pass. In truth Darion could have just shouted and the storm would disappear in a matter of seconds, revealing a clear night sky with all the stars in the heavens shining in all their majesty. However the Greybeards had taught him that such acts were a childish and wanton misuse of the Voice, and that if he shouted away clouds every time it so much as dripped on his head it would could disrupt the balance of nature. Though he didn't care much for the monks and their warnings of his power, he didn't want to be the one responsible for any repercussions of nature, Kynareth was not famous for her mercy with those who tried to bind the will of nature to their own.

As he continued to lose himself in his thoughts, he found himself being pushed from behind as a young man, a red headed goat herder, no more than fifteen by the looks of height and ragged clothing (as well as the smell of goats), having bumped into him in due to the throng of patrons. Almost on instinct Lydia stood from her seat, grabbing the boy by his clothes and held him a good few inches off the ground. Though she did not look it, especially with her cloak on, she was probably stronger than any man in the inn, maybe even Darion as well, but he did not dare think about it.

"Watch where you're going, boy!" she said with fury as the eye of every man was drawn to the situation. With nothing to do but drink the Nords were almost waiting for someone to start a fight.

"Lydia," Darion said in a firm tone, loud enough to catch the housecarls attention over her zealous defence of her thane. "No harm was done, let the boy be." Lydia responded instantly, dropping the boy who fell to the ground with a thud. He looked up at the towering figure of the housecarl before scrambling away into the crowd, most of which watched Lydia with ready eyes as she sat back down next to her Thane. Slowly the situation became a memory, as the patrons returned to their drinks and conversations, seemingly forgetting about the two cloaked figures. Lydia was loyal, there was no denying that. Her quickness to react was one of the reasons Darion liked her.

"I'm sorry Darion," Lydia spoke as she poked at her food. "It's the mead, gets me a little riled up."

"If I had a problem with the effect that liquor had on your anger I would have asked Jarl Balgruuf for a new Housecarl." Darion smiled as he took a sip from his wine.

"I know, it's just that you were thinking, and you always let your guard down when you're thinking." Lydia said as she took a drink from her own mug. Darion paused for a moment, looking at his Housecarl.

"How do you know when I'm thinking?" Lydia smiled as she wiped her mouth.

"Wouldn't be a good Housecarl if I didn't, eh?" she asked. The Dragonborn simply returned the smile, shaking his head. Since the day he reluctantly accepted her into his service she had surprised him. She knew most of his habits well enough that she was the one who suggested things to do if he was ever bored and had coin on hand. She knew almost the exact spot in the sky the moon would need to be before he finally got to sleep, she knew all of his favourite meals and beverages and even which people in various towns he did or didn't like. "So," Lydia continued to speak, "what were you thinking about?"Darion sat in silence for a few moments, though he was unsure why. Lydia was his Housecarl, bound by honour to serve and protect him no matter what. So why was he so hesitant to tell her."You don't have to tell me" she continued, "I was just-"

"It's fine," Darion cut her off. "In all honesty, I'm not sure who to talk to about this."

"About what?" The Dragonborn quickly looked over his shoulder, to ensure that no one was still paying them any attention.

"It's been nearly two months since I came back from Sovengarde. Nearly two months since there's been word of any dragon attacks."

"And?" Lydia asked, unsure of what he meant. "You said yourself that Paarthunax left to teach the way of the voice to other dragons."

"Yes, but that's just it. When he told me that I had the strongest voice amongst dragons, and when I saw them all bowed to me, I felt this rush. It was the same feeling I had whenever I killed a dragon, only better. Like I had everything I ever wanted."

"That was just adrenaline," Lydia insisted, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Even us non-Dragonborns get it whenever we win. I think you were just happy that you won."

"That's what I thought for a while," Darion sighed. "But remember that bandit chief I fought at Knife Point Ridge a month ago?"

"Yeah, that Orc who almost cleaved you in two." Lydia said, looking down in shame. She had been distracted by two other bandits, and had neglected to protect Darion. The bandit had been ready to cleave Darion in two if not his power of the voice. If he hadn't been the Dragonborn, she would have failed her duty.

"Before learning I was Dragonborn," Darion continued, "I would get the same rush from fighting guys like that all the time. After I killed my first dragon, that feeling only came with dragon slaying." He stopped, looking to his wine for a moment. "I think that-"

"Hey! You two in the cloaks!" a voice cut across them, as well as all the noise of the tavern. It's accent was clearly Nordic, thick and gruff. Darion and Lydia turned in their seats to see a man, Nord, a full head of red hair, one hand grasped around a large mug, the other at his belt, where he kept an axe. Lydia's hand dove into her cloak, already wrapping around the hilt of the Blade of Whiterun. She stopped however when Darion raised his hand slightly, shaking his head. The blade remained in its sheath, but her hand remained tight on the hilt. The man continued to approach, taking a swig from his mug before shoving it into the grasp of another patron.

"Who do you think you are?" he asked as he stood before them. "Picking up me boy like that just because he bumped into ya?" Darion's eyes flicked to the side to spot the boy in the crowd, standing far enough away that he shouldn't have been able to see Darion's face under his hood, but still he flinched under the gaze of the Dragonborn. "I want your names Talos damn you," the man continued. "You've laid your hands on me son, that's a crime to me."

Darion could not help but chuckled, angering the man. "Trust me sir, you don't want to know what crime is." His words only seemed to anger the man further as he noticed Darion's accent.

"An Imperial, why am I not surprised," he raised a thick finger at Darion. "You're kind ain't welcome here, Scum of the Empire, not since Ulfric took the Reach from your wretched hands."

Taking the wine from the table, Darion held it to his lips, there were several insults he formulated within those few seconds of silence, it would only take one of them to continue boiling the man's anger.

"Ulfric must be getting desperate, if he's willing to trade loyal cities just to get a hold of this pile of rocks and silver." He looked to the man, making sure that the Nord saw his smile. "Though I can't say the same for his armies, the man himself is a coward."

"How dare you!" the man shouted, joined by the grunts and nods of fellow patrons. "Ulfric is going to be High King soon! And when he is, there will be no place in Skyrim for Imperial rats like you to hide!" Darion stood at this, slowly however, not in a rush or in anger. Lydia stood up with him, quickly and on instinct. Darion looked up at the man, who stood a good two heads above him.

"That's odd," he said, though remained silent after that.

"What is?" the Nord asked.

"You didn't refer to him as the true high king. It seems like everywhere I go that's all anyone ever says." The Nord stepped forward, Lydia moved to intercept but a flick of Darion's hand kept her back. Soon the tower of muscle and meat stood directly over Darion, looking down on him smelling of mead and goats.

"I have my reasons." he said, his voice low and violent. "Now, are you going to apologise for having your whore lay her hands on my boy." Darion's hand clenched into a fist at that.

"Only after you apologise for calling my friend a whore."

The Nord's head lowered down to Darion's level, past his face, whispering in his ear, "Make me," he challenged. Darion sighed. _So much for a night in,_ he thought to himself.

"How about we take this outside," he suggested. "No need to get blood all over this fine establishment."

A low chuckle came from the Nord, his blood lust fuelled by anger and drink. "Fine by me," he said.

The two of them found their way outside into the rain and the mud, along with over a dozen onlookers who stood under the verandah. Darion's cloak quickly became soaked through again. A chill would have crept through any normal man's spine, but Darion was far beyond any normal man. Most of the small crowd cheered on the Nord as he threw off his shirt, revealing a hairy, musclebound chest.

"I would know your name before I kill you," the man said.

"It's polite in any part of Tamriel to give your name first." Darion replied as he un tied the cord around his chest that kept his cloak on.

"I am Jolf, son of Jorolf," he said, drawing his axe. "And you?"

Darion untied his cloak, throwing it to the side, allowing Jolf to see just who he was fighting. An Imperial, short brown hair and green eyes. His armour was a mixture of plate and leather, with, plate gauntlets and pauldrons, along with a hardened leather breast plate and greaves. Under it all he wore a black tunic, which started to become heavier the more rain soaked in.

"My name is Darion Octavius," he said calmly as he reached to his back, his hands gripping the hilt of his sword. He drew it, and even with all the rain and thunder all who gathered could hear the rasp of the blade exiting it's sheath. The hilt and cross guard made of a black metal, the blade itself from a material that Jolf did not even recognise. "Are we going to fighting to the death, or till one of us gives in?" Darion asked.

"I don't plan on giving up, I don't plan on letting you live either," Jolf barked as swung his axe in front of him, making himself use to the weight. It was clear to Darion that the Nord did not use the weapon often, it was most likely a precaution taken to keep wolves away form his goats.

"As you wish." Darion said as he closed his eyes, almost sadly.

"Divines have mercy on you!" Jolf shouted, charging in, his axe raised above his head. He let out a cry that resembled something of a beast, the kind of war cry that the Nords were famous for. Despite this however, Darion stood still, his sword point at the ground. As he closed in, Jolf began to swing his axe, it's blade aimed for Darion's neck.

As the blade closed in on him, a bolt of lighting exploded in the sky above them, shaking the highlands fo the Reach, and blinding all who watched the duel with its light. When Jolf's vision cleared, he found the cold edge of Darion's blade against his throat. His eyes darted to his own weapon, having thought that there was no way that the Imperial could have countered his attack. It was then that he saw that he had not countered. He no longer held an axe in his hand, but rather the remains of one. The iron blade had been cut away cleanly, leaving Jolf with only a wooden handle.

His eyes quickly flicked to downward, to find the Imperial strange sword at his throat. He quickly let go of the remains of his weapon, his body shivering, without the chill of the rain and the certainty of his own death. His eyes slowly me Darion's gaze, the Imperials eyes filled with a savage glare. It was similar to the kind of glare a wolves gave him when he defended his goats. Though this was far different. The way the wolves stared at him were daring looks, a fire in their eyes that signalled a challenge. There was no look like that in the Imperial's gaze, for a challenge implied the possibility of failure, and Darion stared at him like it was his right to kill him like this. As if Jolf had been born and raised, set on his path as a humble herder from Rorickstead to be lead to Old Hroldan by fate so that he could by the sword at the hands of an Imperial.

"On your knees," Darion said, barely above a whisper. Jolf complied, kneeling into the mud, the blade never leaving his neck. "You have lost this fight," he continued, "you stated the rules of engagement, I shall abide by them."

"P-please sir," Jolf began to sob, "I was a fool, a bloody fool! I have my family to take care of, please sir."

"And yet you would throw your life into the hands of fate in duel with a stranger," Darion scoffed. "Your life should be forfeit for the sheer sake of your own stupidity." He pressed the blade further into the mans skin, his grip tightening. "May this teach you a lesson you will never forget," he said before drawling the blade across the mans throat.

To his regard Jolf did not scream, he merely peered into the crowd, at his boy, as if to say goodbye. He waited for the warmth of his own blood, streaming down his chest, to feel the life slowly flow out of him. This was perhaps the best way to meet his death, and to move forward to Sovengarde. However as he waited, no death came. The stinging pain at his neck remained, and he could feel the warm trickle of blood, but death did not come.

The Nord turned to see Darion pull his blade away from his throat, the murderous glare gone now, replaced by a emotionless stare. Jolf's hand went to his throat. The was no gaping mount of torn flesh. All he could feel was a deep but thin cut along his neck. he pulled his hand away, and there was indeed a lot of blood, but no where near enough that it should kill him.

"B-but…" Jolf stammered, "you won, you should kill me."

"The scar that cut will leave will serve you as a reminder for the rest of your days just how foolish you are. And something tells me your boy can't lead all your goats home," Darion stated, "besides, it would be bad for my reputation if I walked a around cutting the throats of goat herders." He smiled as he sheathed his sword. "Something tells me people would be a little less receptive to a Dragonborn who left boys fatherless." He began walking back towards the inn, scooping up his cloak as he walked.

"Wait!" Jolf called, and Darion turned back to see that the Nord was still on his knees, though facing towards him now, his hands in the mud as well. "You're… the Dragonborn?" he asked, his eyes wide. "The Vanquisher of Alduin?"

"I killed him, yes." Darion answered simply. At this the mans head lowered, low enough that he'd be eating the mud beneath him. A clatter behind him caused Darion to turn back to the audience who had gathered on the verandah, all of whom were now kneeling towards him, including Jolf's son. Darion looked to to Lydia with a surprised look, one that matched the one that the housecarl shared.

"You mentioned before," Jolf began, "that I didn't refer to Ulfric as the 'true' high king'. Ulfric will ultimately win this war, he has the people behind him, and I support his cause." Jolf's head shot up, his eyes aimed right at Darion's. "But… the Dragonborn always did right by Skyrim, and they were only people who could truly unify us Nords. So if there is one man in all of Skyrim that _deserves_ to wear the crown, it is you! Imperial or not!" Darion's widened, and he had to stop his jaw from dropping at these words.

"You're sure that you're not just saying that because I spared your life?" he asked. "I'm not even of noble birth."

"You kill dragons!" another man spoke from the crowd, a young sell sword by the looks of him, his gaze not meeting Darion's. "My village, it was attacked some months ago, by a dragon. My family survived and sent me a letter. you killed the Dragon, taking it's soul, and then walked away, asking for nothing in return. They said that if it hadn't have been for you, many more would have died." His eyes now locked with the Dragonborn's. "My sword is yours, if ever you need it Dragonborn."

More men added their praise to the chorus, each of them having some friend or relative who Darion had saved, most simply praising his conquest over Dragons. Each of them added words of their service, each even offering different weapons, everything from swords and axes to pitch forks and spoons.

At first the praise was nothing but flattering for Darion. It was not often he enjoyed being recognised for his deeds, and this was the first time people pledged themselves to him. As he smiled at the praise however, he felt something, like a rumbling deep within his body. His blood began to boil, and despite the rain the chill of the night, he found himself with a fever, sweat running down his forehead feeling like boiling water. As his head began to spin, he found himself pushing through the crowd, back into the inn and into his room, slamming the door behind him. As he stepped into the room, he haunched over, feeling like he had to vomit. This feeling was like nothing he had ever felt before, and he wasn't sure what it was.

Lydia had to push past at least a two dozen people, ignoring the questions and pestering of nearly all of them. Most of them were questions about why drain had stumbled back to his room, others about when his coronation would be. However she ignored most of them. When she finally reached the door, she had to turn to the crowd behind her, glaring at them almost as harshly as Darion could. Once they backed up and went back to their drinks, Lydia burst into their room, closing the door behind her, her other hand already drawing her sword.

When her eyes adjusted to the dark however, she did not see any danger, all she saw was her Thane, haunched over in the middle of the room. She scanned the room quickly again. There were no threats. No sounds. But hat wasn't true. Their was a sound, laughter. She could hear laughter. Not a hearty laugh, lke one would at a joke, nor a small giggle at a woman who admitted she was still a virgin. It was the kind of laugh that parents would imitate to their children when the villain was about to win against the bad guy in a bed time story.

"Darion?" she asked, moving slowly towards him. "Are you alright."

"That's it," he said. "that's what I've been missing. That's what I've needed."

Lydia stood silent for a moment. "What is? What's wrong?"

At that Darion turned to face her, and as much as he looked happy, the look he held on his face, the smile, his wide eyes filled with excitement, she could not help but feel a shiver run up her spine.

"I'm Dragonborn," he said, stepping towards her. "I have the body of a human, but the blood and soul of a dragon." Lydia had to stop herself from stepping away from him as he approached, standing only inches away from her. "It's as I was taught by Paarthunax," he said, his excitement increasing. "It's what I've been missing, it's why I've been so restless! _Dov Wahlaan fah reel,_" he spoke in the Dragon's tongue.

"Darion," Lydia asked in a soft, quite tone, "What does that mean?" A smile continued to creep across Darion's face.

"Dragons were made to dominate."


	2. Change

Chapter 2: Change

_One Year Ago:  
__"We are honoured to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn," Balgruuf spoke, handing Darion a sword of remarkable quality before the gathered court of Dragonsreach, made up of nobles and merchant lords alike. Darion had seen similar kinds of weapons used by the Companions, those glorified mercenaries. He accepted the gift all the same, swinging it in front the Jarl, testing it's weight. Darion wore a simple set of iron armour, complete with gauntlets and greaves. The sword that hung at his side had the markings of the Legion, it's cross guard decorated with a dragon. It had been one of the few things he had been able to grab when he ran from Helgen, but despite it's humbleness, it was a reliable weapon made with the utmost care and skill. It was a soldiers sword, the kind that killed with ease and was sturdy and strong. This new sword in his hands was a undoubtedly of superior quality, but Darion had grown accustomed to his own sword, and was likely to use it for a while to come.  
__"A remarkable weapon my lord," he said. "I'll put it to good use," '_eventually' _he added in thought._

_"I'm sure you will, Dragonborn, it's long way to the Throat of the World, even by horseback, and with the war going on all matter of scum and monstrosities have crept their way onto the roads."_

_"My Jarl, I just took down a Dragon, something tells me that I can handle a few spiders and bandits," Darion spoke, still confident and full of energy after his fight with the dragon._

_"All the same, I would feel safer sending you with some protection, and as a Thane it is a necessity for you anyway." A brow rose on Darion's face._

_"Necessity?" he asked. The Jarl smiled and nodded, waving his hand to someone who stood behind the Dragonborn. Darion turned to find a Nord woman with long black hair stepping out of the crowd of the court. She wore a mixture of steel and furred armour, carrying a sword on her hip and a shield on her back. To say the least she was beautiful, bearing the likeness of both soft hearted girl and the battle readiness of a woman, which in all honesty, Darion thought, was what most Nord women looked like._

_"Dragonborn," Balgruuf continued, "this is Lydia, I am assigning her to be your personal housecarl."_

_"Housecarl?" Darion asked, turning back to Balgruuf, almost sounding insulted, though he did his best to hide it. "Forgive me Jarl Balgruuf but I have no want or need for a bodyguard. I move much faster and work much better on my own."_

_"Housecarls are no simple bodyguards," spoke Irileth, the Jarls own Housecarl, a Dark Elf with the famous ash grey skin and red eyes of her people that highlighted her crimson hair. "They are an extension of their masters will, their sword and their shield. They vow to protect you and all you own with their very lives. There is no soldier or mercenary in all of Tamriel that can match the loyalty of someone given the title of Housecarl." The elf's crimson eyes looked to Lydia, her gaze softening and a small smile on her lips. "Lydia is one such person, and a talented warrior. I daresay she is one of the most accomplished in Whiterun." The Nord woman bowed to the Dark Elf._

_"I am honoured by your praise," she said, having spoken for the first time since she arrived, her voice, much like her face, full of confidence and yet soft and tender. She stood straight and looked to Darion before kneeling once again, which caused Darion to grow strangely restless, but he pushed it aside. "If you will have me my Thane, I declare my sword and my shield to you. I will guard you and all you are with my very being. There is nothing in this world that I will not gladly face in battle for you, no mountain I will not climb or ocean I will not cross. I will follow you into the darkest places and-"_

_"Alright, I get it, you're loyal!" Darion interjected. "If it makes you cease with all these oaths and promises I'll let you tag along," he sighed. Lydia looked up at him, surprised. It seemed as if she had rehearsed that speech all day to convince him. He shook his head before turning back to the Jarl. "I suppose I'll take her, but I take no responsibility if I return alone with tales of her demise at the hands of a troll or a bear."_

_"It is tales of yours that I would be most displeased to hear Dragonborn," Balgruuf laughed. "It is a housecarls place to die before their master, if she does meet her end out there her name will be honoured, we will of course find you a new one." Darion's eyes narrowed for a moment at that. They were careless words, thrown about as if the woman was some tool to be used and replaced. Though he honestly could not care less about the her, he hated words like the Jarls. He knew all to well the feeling of being swept aside as if he were nothing. All the same he kept his mouth shut._

_ "By the way, Jarl Balgruuf," he said, changing the subject for the his own sake, "I wanted to ask you a question."_

_"Ask," the jarl said with a smile, "and I will answer as best as a can."_

_"I couldn't help but notice the distinct lack of soldiers you have within your walls," Darion began, "I was wondering as to why that might be."_

_"If this is some kind of argument to ensure that Lydia remains here, then I ask that you stop right there," Balgruuf said, his voice firm and commanding._

_"Of course not," Darion continued. "It's just that it seems that in the other Hold Capitals, there's not only a garrison of guards, but of soldiers too, be they Imperial or Stormcloak." A small smirk crept it's way onto the dragonborn's face. "I could not see either within your walls." The Jarl sighed and ran a hand through his thick blonde beard, before his eyes met with Darion's once more._

_"What are you trying to say, Dragonborn? Whose side are you going to try and convince me to join?"_

_"No ones, Jarl," Darion assured, though his mocking tone was noted by all in the court. "it was just a curiosity I had." The jarl leaned forward in his throne, as if to intimidate him, but the Nord was careful, he was not fully aware of what this Dragonborn was capable of._

_"I will leave slaying dragons to you," Balgruuf spoke, his voice low now, his words only for Darion, not the rest of his court. "In return, I would appreciate if you left matters of diplomacy and security to me." Darion said nothing, and merely bowed his head. He looked over the sword one more time before sliding it into it's sheath that he held in his other hand. _

_"Well, if I've been summoned by these monks, I best not delay." He bowed to the Jarl once more. "Jarl Balgruuf."_

_"Gods be with you Dragonborn," the ageing Jarl spoke. "I guarantee you will need their help before this dragon menace has ended." And with that Darion turned on his heel and strode out of the Jarl's court, the eyes of various Nobles, Lords, soldiers and servants following him as he made his way out of Dragonsreach, Lydia shadowing him out of the palace. The two of them stepped out of the double doors to the Jarl's Palace and into the cool evening air. Down below the palace throughout the city, Darion could hear music and celebration as Whiterun celebrated the death of the Dragon that most of them had not even seen. _

_"They honour you, my Thane," Lydia said, "You won a great victory today. They will surely remember you for that."_

_"What do I care that they remember me?" Darion replied bitterly. "The people believe me to be a saviour, that I'll slay the dragons and save the world, or some such nonsense." Lydia's brow rose at this. _

_"Is that not what you're going to do? What you should do?" She walked past him to look him in the eye, an act that Darion found particularly annoying. "I understand that you're not a Nord, and you're not fully aware of what being Dragonborn means, but-"_

_"And what does it mean, '_Housecarl'_?" he spat. "What does it mean to be Dragonborn to you?" She was silent, looking down to the celebrations as if to reflect on the question. Darion thought for a moment that he had silenced her into submission but her eyes quickly met his again, this time with a fire in them._

_"It means knowing right from wrong," she began. "About seeing the darkness in the world and having the power to do something about it. You may not realise it, _my Thane_, but you're blood is sacred in Skyrim. You're the one kind of person that people can look up to, regardless of who you are and they will follow you."_

_"Just like you will?" Darion asked smugly. Lydia's eyes narrowed, as if there were nothing but spite for him, and yet at the same time respect._

_"I am sworn to carry your burdens," she growled, "but you really are a bastard, remember that." Darion did his best to stare her down, but he could not help himself from chuckling. Lydia looked surprised to see him laugh, let alone smile. When his fit was finished, Darion threw her the sword the Jarl had given him._

_"We'll start with that," he said as he continued to walk past her. "I promised the jarl I'd put it to good use, so my promises are your promises now. And in the future," he stopped and turned back to her "I want you to be as direct and honest with me as you see fit, I have no affection for flattery or mindless obedience, agreed?" Lydia's face still held the look of surprise, but it slowly turned into a smirk, bordering on a smile._

_"Sure," she said. "But don't expect me to carry everything you give me in the future." Darion returned the smirk, before turning and walking down the stairs into the city._

_"I think we're going to get along just fine, Lydia."_

She pulled the sword slightly from it's sheath, turning it in her hands. A smile crossed her lips as she admired the metal work, as well as the memories attached with it. She quickly slid the blade back in, before pulling the fur cloak further around her shoulders as she peered down into the world below. The Throat of the World surely lived up to its name, it's towering height and mesmerising views were enough to remind Lydia of that each time she climbed the seven thousand steps with Darion. The first time they had made the climb, they had underestimated just how high the mountain was, and both found themselves out of breath and exhausted when they finally reached High Hrothgar after a weeks worth of walking. Since then they had made the journey dozens of times, be it retrieving the horn Jurgen Windcaller, or to learn a new word of power. Regardless, the two of them were use to the climb now, enough so that they were capable of sharing idle talk before quickly find themselves before the doors of the monastery. And still after all this time the monks refused to let her inside.

Even when Darion had gathered the Imperials and the Stormcloaks together to discuss a ceasefire to the civil war, she was not allowed inside. She, like many of the soldiers and bodyguards that the two sides had brought remained outside. The worst part had been that Darion had entrusted her to ensure that neither side started killing each other. That had probably been the longest few hours of her life. She sighed. However it seemed that any time Darion stepped through High Hrogthgar's doors the hours seemed to stretch on. She knew that he was either in meditating or exchanging few words with the Greybeards, a process that she knew took great lengths of time. But she felt there was a certain amount of time attached to his visit. This was the kind of trip he made to climb all the way to the top of the mountain.

It had taken him another day of climbing, but eventually Darion found himself at the summit of the mountain. The ride from the Reach as well as the climb up the seven thousand steps had given him more than enough time to calm down his blood. When he looked back on how he acted, he was even terrified at the kind of mindset he had been on. How he had approached Lydia. Now that he knew what it was, it felt like he was in control of it. However, as much as he felt he could suppress it, he had no idea what could possibly happen if he lost control. It was possible that he could just act excited again. Or it was possible that he could actually harm someone, and with a power like the Voice at his command he did not dare think of what he could do if he lost control. However he did smile as he climbed. Though he knew what he spoke of to Lydia about in the inn had been purely a result of his excitement, the prospect of it, the possibility of it was all to enticing for him. If following this new ambition was losing control, he was starting to like it.

As he paced around the summit, rubbing his hands together for warmth, he allowed himself the rare moment to stop and enjoy the view below him. Skyrim, a vast and beautiful country. The view from atop the Throat of the World was vast and endless, though he knew the borders did exist. At that moment though the land was laid out before him like a painting, it's artist one of divine talent and skill. Though Skyrim was considered cold and inhospitable by many, it took living there, truly living there, to understand and appreciate its unique and beautiful design. From the jagged ice cliffs of Winterhold, to lush green forests of Falkreath, all the way to the vast plains of Whiterun. Every imperfection in it's landscape made perfect and beautiful by nature.

_'No wonder the Dragons like it here so much,'_ he thought to himself. Sighing, he stepped away from the view, moving towards the word wall that stood in solitude on the mountaintop. There he kneeled before it, taking up the meditative position the Greybeards had taught him with his eyes closed. He didn't care much for their philosophies or their prayers, but he had found that meditation on the words of power truly gave him aid. Just by spending an hour a day contemplating on a single word, he gave it a sharper, more precise definition, and thus his thu'um became stronger. And as one of the '_sossedov'_ _, _one with Dragonsblood, having a stronger thu'um meant having the greater say amongst his immortal brethren.

As he knelt there, the snow seeping in through his amour, bringing a numbing chill to his body, he focussed on the words he required. They were dark words, ones that carried the burden of sin for thousands of years. But they were powerful, and in his time of indecision, they were the words that Darion needed. He inhaled deeply, letting the thin mountain air enter him. With his lungs full, his mind in tune with the words of power, he let his voice be heard in a shout that echoed across Skyrim, to wherever in Tamriel it needed to be heard. _Ambition, Overlord, Cruelty._

"_Paar Thur Nax!_" he shouted, his voice exploding in the air around him, it's sound carrying over mountainside. Even as the shout silently died away into the distance, Darion did not move. He remained on his knees before the word wall, and continued to meditate. He did not bring any books from him, and he felt he was to be in for a long wait.

As the sun began to set, and the winds grew silent, Darion remained in meditation. Even he had to admit he had been struggling not to fall asleep, as was his tendency if left in meditation long enough. As he continued to sit there, his mind focussed around a particular set of words. _Fus, Ro, Dah, '_Force, Balance, Push'. It was the first shout he had ever mastered, and by far one of his personal favourites. When used by Dragons, or the Greybeards, it had the power to destroy entire castles with it's unrelenting force. It was said to be the same shout that Tiber Septim had used to destroy the gates of Old Hroldan. Darion planned for even greater deeds than breaching a barbarian camp.

As his mind contemplated the words however, a wind began to creep its way across the mountaintop. Darion paid it no mind, the wind and the peaks of Skyrim went hand in hand like star crossed lovers. However, slowly the wind began to pick up, becoming stronger and more violent. But Darion remained in meditation, refusing to let his will be broken by a bit of wind. However, as he remained in position, the wind grew, and soon Darion found himself knocked over, a loud thud following his own fall. As he let himself open his eyes, he came to face to face with large creature, it's torn wings and greying scales looking like that of an old man, despite the creature's immortality.

"_Drem yol Lok,_" greeted Paarthurnax as he folded his wings and took his perch on the word wall. His sky blue eyes met Darion's, who could not help but smile at the sight of them.

"You look even older than when you left, the other dragons giving you that much trouble?" Darion joked, standing up and patting the snow from his body.

"I do not grow old, Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax said, showing what counted as a smile amongst dragons. "You however are looking _volz fah ahtiid, _worse for wear as the _joor_ say." Darion laughed at this, glad to see that the old dragon had gained something that resembled a sense of humour in his absence.

"It's only been a few months, I plan to live a lot longer than that."

"Months feel more like minutes for the _Dov_. _Vahzen_, time has a much different feeling for the _vozahlaas_, the immortal."

"Or perhaps you do not feel time at all, maybe that's a gift only mortals possess." Darion argued. "_Tiid los fah joor, gein wo kent wahl pruzaan voth fos kesaal laas mu lost." _ Paarthurnax dragon seemed seemed surprised that the Dragonborn spoke so fluently in the Dragons tongue.

"You have been studying our tongue it seems," he spoke, "but your accent is _fus, _forced, you do not speak it as naturally as you should."

"Well when you leave me Odahviing as a teacher, you can expect results like that," Darion shrugged. Paarthurnax stretched his long neck before looking back down to the Dragonborn. "Now, may I ask why I have been called away from my quest?"

"Forgive the intrusion," Darion said, "But I have questions that need answered." Paarthurnax almost chuckled at this, if that's what it was he was doing, Darion thought.

"_Do rah_, you always seem to expect me to know the answers."

"Only because you're the one who seems to know everything around here." Darion argued.

"Very well, what are your questions, Dovahkiin?" Darion paced before the ancient creature, unsure of what to ask first.

"I am… at odds with myself," he began. "I have fulfilled the prophesy, Alduin is dead. And now I am unsure what use a Dragonborn has in this world."

"_Vonum diron_, it is a common thought, shared with many who find themselves no longer a piece in the games that fate plays with us all."

"There's so much I can do… so much that I wish to do, and yet I do not know whether I am meant to take those paths." The dragon's head tilted slightly in curiosity.

"And what paths are those?" Darion remained silent. He trusted Paarthurnx greatly, and held his teachings and character in the highest regard, high enough that he would question the desires of the Blades for justice. And yet he feared how the dragon might think about his desires.

"Were you there," Darion continued, "when the Greybeards proclaimed Tiber Septim as Dragonborn?" It was the Paarthurnax's turn to be silent for a few moments.

"I did not proclaim his blood, as the other Greybeards did, I already felt the presence of his _sossedov, _and had no need to shout at the world to signal his coming."

"Did you meet him?"

"That I did," Paarthunax reflected. "He insisted on meeting me, on learning from me as you did." He fell silent for a moment, watching the mountaintop as if he saw that day unravelling before him then. "You should have seen him, Dohvahkiin, never before had there been one of his kind with that same cunning and ferocity in his eyes."

"What was he like?" Darion asked, desperate to know more. At his question the Dragon smiled, and looked back to Darion.

"He was very much like you, _goraan ahrk jahrii do laan_, young and full of questions, and expecting me to answer them all. We spoke for nearly a day before he departed, and as he left me I knew that the world below was about to change. For better or worse I had no idea." His blue eyes searched Darion's, as if the looking deep enough into them would tell him what the young mortal was thinking. "You feel it now, do you not? The same right that every Dovah is born with." Darion fell silent for a moment. Perhaps the Dragon really could read his mind.

"The will to power," Darion spoke, "The need to dominate." Paarthunax nodded at this. He had sensed on his journey that something had changed within the Dovahkiin's heart, not change of morales or principles, but of a desires and ambitions.

"To answer your _vofun laan, _your unspoken question; Do what you feel you have to. If this what your blood demands, then listen to it, but be careful that you do not mistake it's desires with your own, otherwise you will find yourself with more blood on your hands than you need concern yourself with." Darion slowly looked to his left hand, as if he could already feel warmth of blood on them.

"And what if blood stains my hands, regardless of my will?" he asked. At this Paarthurnax began to extend his wings, flapping them with the force of a hurricane. The force of his wings slowly lifted him from the ground, throwing snow and stone all around the mountaintop, and he began to fly away, but not before leaving him with one final piece of counselling.

"_Ni waan, hi fen lost sos nau hin haal." _he spoke, his voice echoing in Darions head as his grey winged form disappeared into the horizon, returning to only the gods knew where.

The Dragonborn watched on, even long after Paarthurnax long disappeared into the night until the only thing remaining were his words, still leaving their mark on Darion's mind. And as much as it made him sick to the stomach, he could not help but smile as he felt his dragon blood begin to burn once more. He turned, and began the long walk back down the mountain. Though from then on, he truly had no idea what fate had in store for him. With Alduin dead he had completed the only destiny that had been written for him. Now it was his turn to write his own. Though he was stretching the translation, Darion understood perfectly what Paarthurnax had said to him. "_Ni waan, hi fen lost sos nau hin haal_, 'Not if, you will have blood on your hands'. And yet Darion continued to smile as he descended the Throat of the World. Much like how Tiber Septim left hundreds of years ago, when he returned to the world below, things were going to change.

**_What's this? A new chapter within twenty four hours? Well don't expect too much of that. I had already half finished this chapter at the time I posted the first one, so it was a matter of luck really. Also in a few weeks I will be starting up my courses at university, so my time to write anything fiction related will be whittled down greatly. Regardless I love the idea for this story, and I'm keen to get it across. So be sure leave a review, positive or negative, it doesn't matter, any publicity is good publicity!  
_**

**_Until Next time!_**

**-xcaliber234**


	3. Plans

Chapter 3: Plans

The warm breath of Darion's horse covered his hands as the beast sniffed in the scent of the apple he held there. It quickly snatched up the morsel, chomping on it loudly, spare pieces and juice falling back into his hand. He smiled, wiping his hand on his sides as the beast happily continued to eat, attracting the eye of the other horses in the stable who now had a desire for apples. With their horses stabled outside the city walls, Darion and Lydia began their walk towards the gates of Whiterun.

"There's a chill in the air," Lydia noted as the two of them walked. "It's coming from the east."

"A rather metaphorical way to say that Ulfric's army is on the march," Darion answered back. "He'll be making his move on Whiterun soon and your becoming a poet, the world truly has gone mad." Lydia elbowed him in the side for that. "Though I feel the rumours might be exaggerating the number of forces, it'll still be a force to be reckoned with.

"I can't say I'm surprised he's the one to break the truce," Lydia said as they neared the front gate, where two guards saluted the pair as they approached, opening the doors for them. "You said that he had been quite aggressive in his negotiations."

"Aye, demanding Markarth and Morthal, and he had the nerve to say that trading Riften was not a fair price." Darion said as he nodded to the guards. "In all honesty he's lucky I agreed to Markarth, if it hadn't been for the fact that he saved my life at Helgen, then I would have killed him there for his stubbornness. One less party at the table make negotiations that much easier." '_And my plans for that matter' _he added mentally.

"The Greybeards would have never allowed it." Lydia mentions and Darion stopped and turned to his Housecarl as they passed through the gates and into the city.

"Do you honestly think that I would have cared?" he asked.

"Probably not," she replied with a smile. "But even you're not foolish enough to test the wrath of the Greybeards." It was Darion's turn to smile.

"Not yet anyway." he said before walking on, leaving Lydia to roll her eyes at the idea, Though a part of her knew he meant what he wasn't joking. The two of them pressed onward into the city, receiving greeting and salutations from many that they passed on their way through the plains district. As they made their way through the streets they stopped outside one of the many wooden cottages that dotted the cityscape, _Breezehome,_ Darions own house given to him by the Jarl. Darion fished through his pocket and pulled out two keys, handing them to Lydia.

"You know that chest I keep stored under the stairs?" he asked.

"The one that you refuse to let me look inside yet I know it's where you keep your dragon remains?" Lydia inquired mockingly.

"Yes that one," he replied, choosing to ignore her tone. "I need you to get it up to the Skyforge." He reached into pockets once more and produced a small bag of coins as well as two sealed pieces of parchment. "Hire yourself a pair of hands too, it's heavier than it looks. And deliver one of these to Eorland, the other goes to the Harbinger."

"Making another sword from dragonbone?" she inquired, her eyes darting quickly to the sword on his back. Darion had made a special request to Grey-Mane to experiment with dragonbone to see if it could be useful besides serving as a valuable source of income. The result had been a sword of amazing craftsmanship, one that rarely required maintaining and was sharp enough to pierce the hides of dragons in a single motion.

"It's a surprise," Darion said with a smile. "Just make sure Eorland gets that letter."

"Anything I should say?"

"Just tell him to have it delivered back to _Breezehome _when it's finished." He began to walk away, but turned back to look at her one more time. "And give the new Harbinger my regards, I heard he's a decent man."

"Where are you going?" Lydia asked, surprised she was to leave his side.

"I need to go and speak to the Jarl, I will meet you in the market place." He said, and with one final smile he was off, leaving Lydia standing in front of the house. With a sigh the Nord woman unlocked the house and entered. She sighed again at the state of the place. In their absence cobwebs had been spun in all corners, a thick layer of dust coated just about everything and the place stank of skeever droppings. Looking past the state of the house however, the Housecarl eyes went for the chest that Darion had mentioned. She strode into the house, standing before the chest, the key in hand. Ever since he had started hunting dragons, even when he had been hunting with the Blades he had collected as many samples of bones and scales as possible from the bodies of the beasts he killed. After he had defeated Alduin however, and Parrthurnax left to teach other dragons the Way of the Voice, there had been quite a lack dragons to slay, and thus his supply began to dwindle. She sighed, looking to the coin purse he had left her as well.

"I guess I'll need some help," she said as she exited to find people willing to do the heavy lifting.

* * *

Darion walked up the stairs of the palace, to the main throne room of the Jarl, who sat in council with many of his advisors. As he made his approach, Darion caught snippets of conversations about taxes, levies and guard patrols. As well as the idle talk amongst politics, could not help but notice the armoured form among them. A woman, donning the armour of an officer of the Legion. He recognised the woman as Legate Rikke, General Tullius' second in command. The two had met briefly at Castle Dour in Solitude, and then again at High Hrothgar during the negotiations. She noticed his approach, and nodded a silent greeting towards him, which Darion returned in kind. When he was but a few meters from the throng of lords and courtly types, the old Jarl noticed Darion, and smiled at him, raising a hand to silence the rest of the court.

"And so the hero of Skyrim marches into my halls after months on the road, still reeking of blood, sweat and the and other sweet perfumes of adventure."

"Only because I smell like a breath of fresh air to one who is practically chained to his throne," Darion replied as he made his way through the court-goers towards the throne. The two of them smiled to one another and Balgruuf stood from his position, shaking the hand of the Dragonborn, their grips fierce and friendly.

"Avenicci," the Jarl ordered his steward, who stood to the side of the throne, "have the cooks prepare some food and drink, and have it brought out to the Great Porch."

"B-but my lord," the Imperial stuttered, "You're currently at court."

"Dismiss them then, I've grown tired of politics for the day." Balgruuf growled, his temper rising.

"No need Jarl Balgruuf," Darion said, putting the court at ease, "I do not intend to stay for long, only to ask a few questions." One of the the advisors, a Redguard that Darion knew as Nazeem strode forward, full of confidence.

"But my lord, surely what Thane Darion has to say can wait? We are discussing matters of state, I'm sure he can sit quietly and-"

"You would have me place you, a simple land owner, over the Dragonborn himself?" Balgruuf interjected. Darion took great pleasure in seeing the smug expression drop form the Redguard's face as he began to back away. "You disgust me, get out of my sight, all of you!" he ordered, and the throne room became empty very quickly as lords and ladies almost ran for the doors to escape the Jarls anger. All that remained was Rikke, who stood with her hands behind her back, her posture flawless, the mark of a disciplined soldier. "That includes you too, Rikke," the Jarl spoke, his voice becoming slightly calmer now.

"Jarl Balgruuf, if I could just convince you that-" she began to speak, but was cut off by the Jarls hand, raised once more to silence her.

"I've already given you my answer, I will not have Legion troops in my city. Now ride back to Solitude and tell General Tullius that I thank him for his offer, but I must decline." Rikke looked to the Jarl, with almost a pleading look in her eye, before sighing, and saluting to him.

"Talos guide you, Balgruuf," she said before nodding to Darion once more. "Dragonborn." And with that she marched out of the palace. Once she had left, Balgruuf sighed, rubbing his eyes as if to wipe away the burdens of ruling.

"I have half a mind to throw politics to the wind and join you on one of your adventures," he said as he returned to his throne. "I may not be as spry as I once was, but I can still swing a sword better than any man." Darion chuckled at that.

"Your company on the road would be a welcome change of scenery, but I must ask," he looked to where the Legate had stood. "You're denying Imperial troops?"

"I have denied Imperial troops before, and I will continue to deny them, as if my right," Balgruuf spoke. "I have no intentions of letting the Empire fight Whiterun's battle for us."

"Is that wise? Ulfric's army is on the move again, his target will be Whiterun."

"Let him come," Balgruuf challenged, waving for a servant to bring him a mug of ale. "If he wishes to challenge my rule, let him, I'll not stop him."

"I imagine he will be letting his soldiers try that, he doesn't strike me as the honourable sort who will march in and challenge you." Darion replied spitefully at the thought of the Jarl of Windhelm.

"He did so with Torryg," Balgruuf noted as he took drink from his mug. "If he's half the man I fought alongside in the Great War he will do the same for me."

"Oh yes, because that was a fair fight," Darion rebuked, receiving a wave of the Jarls hand, who clearly did not care anymore. "My Jarl I know the power of the voice more than anyone, it is not something that you can just challenge in fair combat. If he does not send his armies against your gates, he will kill you. Regardless of your skill, you're no match for the voice."

"My decision has been made, Dragonborn," Balgruuf stated, keeping a surprising control on his temper. "I have heard that Torryg did not back down against the voice, so neither shall I." Darion wanted so desperately to shout at him in that moment, to let him know the potential that Ulfric could have should the two Jarls face each other. But he held himself in check, and merely sighed. Though he was known as Balgruuf the Greater, and was deserving of that title, Balgruuf the Foolish and stubborn suited him better.

"In any case," Darion continued, "I will be here to defend Whiterun when the time comes. If the Stormcloaks don't back down against you, then they will surely think twice when they see me defending your walls." At this Balgruuf breathed what seemed to be a sigh of relief.

"Praise the Divines," he said, raising his cup in thanks. "I'm sorry to say it Darion, but I was counting on your loyalty to Whiterun." Darion bowed his head.

"I will be here whenever the city needs me, Jarl Balgruuf."

"I will be holding a war council in few days," Balgruuf said as he motioned to have his mug refilled. "I would be truly grateful if you would sit alongside me and serve as one of the city's commanders."

"I am grateful to be a part of the defence," Darion said motioning to have a mug of his own brought over. The servant quickly shuffled over, handing him the mug. "It'll be nice to have a bit of strategy, my norm is just swinging my sword around and shouting my way through my enemies." Balgruuf chuckled deeply at that.

"I wish the coming battle could be as simple as that." He raised his mug. "Whiterun forever," he toasted.

"Whiterun forever," Darion repeated. '_Or at least as long as it serves my needs.'_

* * *

Though it had only taken her a few minutes find a pair of hands to help her move the chest, it had taken at least half an hour of navigating through the crowded city streets for Lydia to bring the chest to Jorrvaskr, the hall of the Companions. Whilst Darion mostly thought of them as nothing more than mercenaries, Lydia had looked up to them ever since she was a little girl. She often daydreamed of the life she would have lead if she joined their honoured ranks had she not become Darion's Housecarl. Though she was fine being referred to in the stories as 'The Dragonborn's Shield-Maiden', or simply 'The Housecarl', she liked to think about legends of her own being spread across Skyrim, and singing songs of her victories every night in the great mead hall. Regardless, she was content with her life as it was, and when she really thought about it, a lifetime by the Dragonborn's side was more valuable to her than immortality through songs and stories.

As she and her hired help, two Nords, eager to prove their strength to a beautiful woman, made their way around Jorrvaskr, they began to climb the stone steps that lead to the ancient forge. The eagle caved into the mountain seemed to greet her as she climbed further towards the heat that erupted from the forge. Soon she saw the sight of Eorland Grey-Mane, his arms as thick as tree trunks as he struck red hot metal against an anvil. Though he looked old, there was no greater fire of youth that burned in Skyrim, and much like the Skyforge, it would continue to burn for many years to come.

As she approached, the smith seemed to take notice of a presence around his forge. He hammered one final blow into the metal before dropping it into a trough of water. The metal hissed like some great serpent as steam rose from the waters surface. Eorland turned and smiled at the sight of visitors, even more so at the sight of the Housecarl.

"Lydia," he spoke, his Nordic accent thicker than most. "How are you?"

"I am fine, thank you," she turned to her hirelings, motioning them to bring the chest towards the smith as she pulled one of the letters. "My Thane has something for you, a request if I know his mind."

"I'd say you know his mind better than anyone my dear, I doubt no other person in Skyrim is closer to him than you." Eorland smiled as he stepped forward, taking the letter from her. The two hirelings gently lowered the chest, groaning in pain as they finally let the burden slip from their fingers. "Not there you two, it's in the way!" Eorland barked, quick to anger when something was out of place at his forge. "Put it over there," he said, pointing to a pile of ores and materials. The two Nords looked at each other, a disheartened look in their eyes. As they reached down to pick it up again, Eorland growled, marched over, and picked up the chest with a single arm, holding it under his arm like a keg of mead. The two Nords watched on in amazement as he carried it, and just as quickly dropped it next to the other crafting materials. He knew full well what he was dropping, he was not scared of it breaking. Lydia paid the two of them and they quickly wandered off, shaking their arms free of the pain in them.

"Now," Eorland said as he unsealed the letter. "Let's see what your Thane wants this time." His eyes quickly scanned the contents of the letter, his brow knitting together and raising several times as he read silently to himself. Lydia was almost made curious enough to snatch the letter off of him and read it herself but remained composed. When it seemed like he had finished, the old Nord took the letter, crushed it into a ball before throwing it into the fires of the skyforge, the parchment burning to ash in an instant. "That Thane of yours has a knack of pushing my craft to its limits, I'm not sure whether to respect him or punch him, maybe I could do both, assuming you don't maim me for doing so."

"Not at all," Lydia smiled. "I punch him all the time, maybe your fist might actually straighten him out." Eorland gave a deep and hearty laugh, surprised to hear such words from a Housecarl.

"Ah, Lydia, you know how to make an old man laugh. The Dragonborn is lucky to have you at his side." Lydia bowed her head slightly at that, mostly to hide a blush.

"You're too kind," she said before straightening up again. "Well I must be off, I'm to meet him in the market."

"And where what kind of grand adventure will you two be off on this time? Bear hunting perhaps? Or has Darion finally gone mad and thinks he can fist fight with a giant?"

"I hope not, because I'll need to be the one to drag him out of there," she laughed, but her mood quickly changed to a grim one. "No, I imagine he'll want to do something about Ulfric's army, he's loyal enough to Whiterun that he'd stay and defend the city." Eorland mumbled an agreement to that. Like many of his clan, Eorland supported Ulfric's cause, and would have gladly taken up arms for him if asked. However he was one with Whiterun above all, the Skyforge, his clan, the Companions, all of it came before Ulfric. And the idea that Ulfric was marching on Whiterun of his own whim was something the old smith just could not abide.

"I'm sure he will make the right decision, as will you I feel," he said with a smile.

"I will follow him wherever fates take us."

"Of that I have no doubt my dear. Tell your Thane I will gladly undertake this request, and that it should be ready in a week or two." The Housecarl bowed once more.

"Thank you, I best return to my Thane. Good day Master Grey-Mane."

"The same to you, Housecarl." And with that Lydia turned and began her walk back to the stairs. As she left however, her eyes hung low to the ground, as a result she could not see the man she ran into just as she began to her descent down the stairs. As the two of collided, her eyes snapped up to the face of Nord, short hair, a dirty blonde in colour and eyes like the sky. She had to stop herself from blushing when she realised that he was rather handsome, with a strong jaw line, a light layer of facial hair and a scar on his left cheek.

"Pardon me," he said, his accent resembling that of an Imperial more than a Nord.

"My apologies," she mumbled as she passed him, feeling slightly embarrassed. She heard a small chuckle from him as she wandered away.

"Eorland," he spoke, "Is my sword ready?"

"Indeed it is, Harbinger, finished it this morning." Lydia stopped at this, cursing silently to herself. She pulled out the second letter, the one that Darion wished her to give to the leader of the Companions. She turned slowly walked back up the stairs, seeing the sight of the man once more. He wore a set of carved Nordic armour, a mix of nordic plate, fur and leather armours. If it were not for his accent, and the fact that he did not have a full beard, he would have been the epitome of a Nord. He took a sword from Eorland's grasp, one made of Skyforge steel she assumed. He swung it in front of him, testing its weight and balance. He then took a stance before striking at phantom opponents that only he saw. His speed and precision were impressive, she thought to herself. Even though he fought his imaginary foes, she already started to wonder whether he could be a match for Darion. When he was finished, he held the sword by his side, exhaling deeply, trying to keep his breathing under control. It was then that his eyes flicked to her, and she found herself frozen in his gaze.

"Back again already?" he asked with a smile. Lydia realised that she was staring and quickly shook her head free of surprise before climbing the stairs once more.

"You are the Harbinger?" she asked.

"Despite my best efforts," he joked. "I am Leandros Ember-Heart. And you are?" She bowed slightly to the man.

"Lydia, Housecarl of Thane Darion, Dragonborn." It was the Harbinger's turn to look surprised. He eyed her up and down, taking in her form and physique.

"My lady, it is an honour," he said as he bowed his head slightly. "You're fame is well deserved, and you every bit as beautiful as the stories say. I envy the Dragonborn for his company." Lydia blushed at that, averting her eyes slightly.

"You're too kind, Harbinger." she said, pausing for a moment before extending out her arm, the letter held in her hand. "My Thane wishes to send you his regards, and he asked me to give you this." Leandros gently took the letter from her grasp, sliding it into a pouch that resided on his belt.

"I'll be sure to look over it later, but first I would like to ask a few things about this, Darion."

"I will answer within reason," Lydia said firmly, not ready to reveal all of her Thane's secrets.

"Fine with me," Leandros smiled, he turned to Eorland, who was returning to his forge. "I will see you again soon Eorland," he said before turning back to the Housecarl. "Shall we?" he asked, motioning towards the stairs down to Jorrvaskr. Lydia nodded, and the two descended the stairs, and at Leandros' insistence, they made their way to the courtyard behind the mead hall, where various training dummies and racks lined with sparing weapons sat. They took a seat on one of the tables that looked over the training area, and almost as if she were summoned magically, an old woman shuffled her way out of the mead hall, the sounds of what seemed like a brawl escaping out of the door as she pushed it open. She carried over to them a wooden tray with two cups and a jug before placing the tray down and filling both cups with water. When she was done, Leandros smiled and nodded his thanks to the woman, and she shuffled away as quickly as she came.

"So, tell me about this, Dragonborn," Leandros began as he picked up his cup. "What kind of a man is he? Is he the same as they speak of in the stories?"

"What do they say in the stories?" Lydia asked as she took a sip from her own cup.

"They say he's a mountain of meat and muscle, that he could crush a giant in an embrace." Lydia could not help but spit-take at this, and looked at him with shock.

"You must be joking," she said, "He's shorter than I am!"

"I figured as much, rumours and stories tend to get in the way of the truth," Leandros said with a chuckle. "Okay, next question. Is it true his voice can summon thunder storms?" Lydia smiled then.

"Storms, breath fire, have animals fight at his side or even stop time," she looked to the Harbinger. "He's no where near as powerful as the Greybeards, but he's probably just as powerful as any story could ever say." Leandros leaned back in his chair, amazed.

"Divines, now that would be a sight to see, I can only imagine how human he must look, and yet have so much power within him." Lydia smiled again in silent reflection of their travels,

"He's a good man, though he will never admit it. He feels he's just the right amount of good he needs to be, and the rest of the time it's just whatever mood he finds himself in."

"Aye, it is often the best of among men who will deny their goodness." Leandros said, drinking the last of his water, ebfore moving for the jug. "Now, care to tell me a tale or two that might actually be true?" The two of them sat there for a while, Lydia doing most of the talking whilst Leandros listened intently. They must have sat there for at least an hour, with Lydia telling stories of discovery, triumph and adventure. As she reached the end of her tale about Darion's quest to Sovengarde, Leandros was on the edge of his seat, like a child listening to the final part of a bed time story promised to him at supper.

"…and when he returned, he was on top of the throat of the world, and the dragons were bowing to him," she finished, smiling. Though she had not been there personally, when Darion described it she could just imagine the swarm of dragons, ancient and wise beings bowing before a mortal man. "And since then we've been wandering." Leandros was silent for a moment, as if expecting more of the story to come, but he soon sighed, shuffling back into his seat, trying to comprehend the tale that had been passed to him.

"Amazing, there has not been a story that has been sung in Jorrvaskr that is a match for yours in glory. I look forward to meeting this Dragonborn."

"I'm sure you will, I know that he was eager to meet you but he had some business with the Jarl and…" she fell silent, realising just how much time had passed. "Gods! I was supposed to meet him in the market place!" She scrambled from her seat, quickly bowing to Leandros. "It was an honour to meet you, Harbinger, but I must be off."

"It is no problem at all," Leandros spoke calmly. "Stop by anytime, you and your Thane are welcome in the halls of the Companions." At this Lydia smiled, before running off as quickly as she could. How stupid could she have been? Darion probably had been waiting in the market for a while now. Though he was rarely ever bothered if she was late for anything, as a Housecarl Lydia was still worried. She had neglected her duty for idle chat with a stranger, something that she knew that Darion could shrug at, but to her it was a stain on her honour. As she ran through town, ducking and weaving between townsfolk in the wind district, she wondered whether Darion's business with the Jarl hadn't concluded, and she was worried about nothing. Regardless, she should not have lost track of time. '_I can't allow myself to be distracted,'_ she thought to herself. '_He's my Thane and friend, and I cannot-'_

_"FUS RO DAH!"_ At the sound of the shout, it's thunder rolling across the city, Lydia slid to a stop, her mouth falling open, her eyes widening. Though it was a sound that many dragons made, she could tell a shout from the Dragonborn anywhere. She began to move again, sprinting this time with her hand on her sword as she pushed her way through the crowd now.

* * *

_Minutes Earlier..._

Darion stood in front of the stall, his mouth watering at the collection of meats on display. One of his favourite parts about Whiterun had to be the meat stall run by the Bosmer Anoriath, with fresh meat served nearly everyday. He spied a pair of steaks, thinking they would do well as his dinner.

"Had enough of the jerky and dried fruits on your travels, Darion?" the elf asked happily.

"You know it, I've been dying to sink my teeth into some real meet for weeks," Darion replied hungrily, noticing a rack of ribs as well.

"Well you best buy them quick, I've had a lot of people looking to buy meat so they can preserve it." The elf said sadly. Darion did not need to ask. In the time he had spent wandering the markets waiting for Lydia, he had learned that the impending arrival of the Stormcloak army was on the minds of many in the city. If they were buying meat to be preserved, it meant that they were getting ready for a siege, where food would be nowhere near as accessible, and it was better to preserve the meat rather than wait for it to become rotten. Though he had never been in a siege, he had a general idea of the kind of things that could occur during one. Infighting amongst the people, struggles for food and water, disease and pestilence. The coming battle would test the people in Whiterun in ways he could not imagine. Everyone from soldiers all the way to the smallest of the children would have the strength of their minds and bodies put to the test.

'_Just one of the reasons that I need to be here' _he thought to himself. _'In desperate times the people need to look to someone, a hero. And I can use that to my advantage in the days to come.' _As he continued to peruse the various steaks, ribs and sausages on sale, he did not notice the two figures approaching him. The crowed market place parted ways for them, the guards keeping their hands on their swords and their eyes on these strangers. Their garbs made them out to be mages of some kind, but none of the townsfolk had seen mages wear such strange masks as these two strangers did.

As the crowd parted, they revealed the form of the Dragonborn to the strangers, who stopped, nodded to one another before pressing forward. Darion continued to be oblivious to their presence until he looked up at the face Anoriath whose eyes darted between Darion and the strangers. It was only then that the Dragonborn turned to face the two strangers, noticing how widely the crowd had parted for them. Many of the people stopped and stared at the scene, eager to see what would happen others quickly made their way from the market, desperate to be out of the way. The strangers stood at least twenty feet away now. They did not say anything, only stared at him. Their masks were identical, strange and horned, with what could only be described as tentacles hanging down like a beard. One of them had a sword at their hip and stood at least a head taller than his counterpart who held no visible weapons but Darion could sense the magic in their blood.

"You," the shorter of them spoke, their accent that of a Dark Elf. "You are the one they call Dragonborn?" Darion looked between the two of them, the taller one remaining silent.

"People tent to like calling me that, aye," Darion replied.

"Then your lies have taken root in the hearts of the people," the Dark Elf spoke again, turning to the crowd that remained to watch. "You poor fools, we know that it is not of your own doing that you worship this pretender, you are all victims of his lies." he turned back to Darion. "We must cleanse the thoughts of such trickery from the minds of men and mer, by cleansing the world of you!" He raised his hands at Darion, a fire appearing in either palm, causing the crowd to panic. Two guardsmen stepped out of the crowd, their shields raised.

"No! Don't!" Darion pleaded, but it was too late as the guards advanced on the strangers.

"In the name of the Jarl, stop right th-" they were cut of as the Dark Elf fired a fire bolt at both guards, neither having enough time to raise the shields or dodge the attack. The balls of arcane fire hit either one square in the chest, and they both fell to the ground with a scream, the smell of burnt flesh filling the marketplace. As they fell, many of the people began to run, screaming for help. The elf raised his hands once more, firing two more balls of fire at Darion, who stepped forward and raised his own hands. The Fireballs exploded, and anyone who still remained screamed. As the smoke cleared however, all could see the Dragonborn, his hands raised, a shield of magical light in front of him. Darion sighed with relief, he had barely enough time to raise the ward in front of him. Whoever the Elf was, he was a talented mage, being able to fire the shots so quickly.

The Elf snarled, and continued to throw fireballs at him, whilst the other stranger drew his sword and ran forward at Darion. As he approached, Darion blocked three more fire balls, his left hand continued to hold up the ward, whilst his right reached for the sword on his back. As the man brought his sword down, Darion cancelled the ward, raising his weapon to block the attack, the blades meeting with a metallic ring. Darion pushed the blow to the side, sending the man off balance before stepping around and slicing the back of the man's ankles. The masked man screamed, the first sound he had made since he had arrived, and sank to his knees in pain. As he continued to scream, Darion thrust his sword into the back of the mans head, feeling satisfied as he heard the sounds of tearing flesh, the breaking of the mask as his sword existed through the man's face, and the silence from him that followed.

As he turned to face the Dark Elf, anger gripped him as he saw the Elf hold a woman down on her knees by her shoulder, a woman who held a young girl in her arms. Darion recognised the woman as Carlotta the woman who ran a fruit and vegetable stand in the markets with her daughter Mila.

"You coward!" he shouted at the Elf, whose smile Darion could almost hear behind his mask.

"Drop your weapon," he said, as his free hand ignited once more, "or they die." Darion glared at the elf, seeing no weakness of possibility of hesitation in his stance. If they want to kill Carlotta, they would do so without a second thought.

"Damn you," Darion muttered before throwing down his sword, ringing as it struck the cobblestone. The Elf laughed viciously.

"We were right to kill you, Deceiver. No real Dragonborn would let compassion be his weakness. When the true Dragonborn comes, the world will know and fear his power." Darion's expression changed in an instant from rage to confusion.

"The True Dragonborn?" he asked.

"That is right Deceiver, compared to him you are nothing but a meek pretender, dancing in his shadow." The elf laughed again, motioning to Carlotta and Mila. "If you were a true Dragonborn, or even a true warrior, you would know that you must be ready to sacrifice the lives of those lesser than you." He raised, his hand, Carlotta holding Mila tighter as the fireball burning brighter. In that moment, time seemed to slow down for Darion as he viewed the situation. In the moments that passed, six different strategies flashed through his mind, four of which would result in Carlotta's death. One of them was bound to work, using his Thu'um to slow time, but that required time and concentration, time of which he was even shorter on. The last option was a gamble, and if luck was not on his side, then Carlotta and her daughter may be hurt or worse, their blood would truly be on his hands. But he had no choice, he had to leave them in the hands of the gods and pray that they keep them safe. As time began to return to it's normal state, and the elf's hand began descending faster, Darion felt the pulsing in his body, and with all the strength he could, he roared at the man.

"_FUS RO DAH!_" he shouted, doing his best to narrow the blast. The waves of magic and bursting air erupted in front of him, and the elf was sent flying, being struck in the chest by the narrowed blast. For a moment he remained in the air, his flight unhindered, but was quickly sent crashing through several stalls, wooden splinters and wares sent flying in all directions. When silence finally settled, over the market, Carlotta slowly began to open her eyes, seeing the Dragonborn standing before her. She could still feel her daughter in her arms, and she silently thanked the gods as she felt the absence of the elf's grip on her shoulder. The Dragoborn began walking towards her, picking up his sword and sliding it back into the sheath on his back. She opened her mouth to give thanks as he neared, but he walked right past her, navigating his way through the trail of destruction that had he had created.

When he reached the end of the path he had created, he found the elf laying on his back in a pile of splinters, a sharp length of wood protruding from his shoulder. Darion also noticed a large gaping hole in the mans chest, a bloody and ragged as pieces of flesh fell apart before his eyes. His mask had been broken also, and as it fell piece by piece from his face, Darion could see how young the Dunmer really was, with short black hair, a trail of blood running from his mouth. Darion knelt down beside him, taking hold of the protruding splinter twisting it slightly and extracting a blood curdling scream from the elf, as if it were the only injury he had.

"Who sent you?" Darion asked calmly, though even a blind man could hear the anger hidden beneath that false layer of calm.

"Darion!" he heard his name called, and in the corner of his eyes he could see Lydia arriving, her sword drawn, a look of horror on her face as she viewed the scene. "What-"

"Silence!" he barked at her, his not leaving the elf. He twisted the splinter further, receiving only a wince this time. "Who sent you? What did you mean by the 'True Dragonborn'?" The elf laughed, coughing up blood as he did so.

"You're fool to tight against fate." He tried breathing, though it was clear his was drowning in his own blood. "Lord Miraak will rise, and there will be nothing that you can do to stop him. The world will bow... as the one True Dragonborn... returns…"

"Who is this Miraak? Tell me!" But Darions words fell on the ears of a dead man, who gave one final breath before passing from Mundus. Darion's hand slowly slipped from the splinter, and fell to his side. Lydia kept her distance, not daring to approach lest he still be angry. Slowly Darion began to search the body of the elf, pulling out a coin purse which he threw to the side along with a knife and a few potion bottles. Finally he pulled a piece of parchment out of the man's pockets and proceeded to read what was on it. Lydia slowly began to shuffle forward, though she was still unsure whether to or not.

"Darion..." she said, not knowing what else to say. He was silent for a moment, before he stood up quickly and began springing his way through the crowd that had slowly gathered to view the carnage. The crowd parted for him as the Dragonborn raced his way down towards the gates. "Darion!" Lydia called after him as she tried to catch up, fighting her way through the crowd. By the time she finally caught up to him, he was already outside the stables, saddling his horse. "What is going on? Where are you going?"

"I need to leave Whiterun for a while." He said as he secured the saddle in place.

"We're leaving?" Lydia asked, shocked at his words. "Ulfrics army will be here soon! The city needs us!"

"I'm going alone, you'll remain here and represent me on the Jarls war council," he said as pulled the final strap of the saddle into place.

"Darion, no!" she protested. "If we're not staying here then I'm going with you to wherever you need to go! I swore an oath that I would remain by your side and-"

"Lydia!" Darion cut her off, causing her to cringe in fear. "If you have any loyalty to your Thane, you will remain here and do as I have commanded." She averted her eyes away from him, refusing to meet his gaze. He sighed at this, and placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. "And if you respect me as your friend," he continued, his tone much softer than before, "then you'll understand that I have to do this alone." Lydia looked to him now, her eyes almost with tears in them.

"How long will you be gone?" she asked.

"I'm not sure, but I promise I will return as swiftly as I am able." He said, a small smile on his lips, his hand rising from her shoulder to her cheek. "Do you understand?" Lydia didn't like it, not one bit. She was being asked to go against her duties as a Housecarl and leave her Thane to whatever end he was riding towards. All the same though, she respected his wishes, and nodded her head in silent agreement. He pulled her head down slightly, and she became very nervous all of a sudden. But he simply stood on his toes, and kissed her on the forehead. "I know you'll make me proud." He said, before mounting his horse.

"You be safe," she warned him. "Or I'll come after your soul and punch you so hard all of Sovengarde will feel it. Darion smiled again.

"I'm sure you will." he said, before urging the horse forward, taking off from the stables at a gallop. Lydia stood there, watching ride away into the east. Though she knew she would see him again, she felt in her heart that when he returned, she would not be looking at the same man.

* * *

As the days went by Darion continued to press his horse onward through hidden trails in the countryside, doing his best to avoid the road. He had no idea how many days had passed when he brought the creature to a halt, peering through the tree line to the road. There he saw rank after rank of soldiers adorning blue uniforms, their banners embodied with a roaring bear. He was tempted to stop and see how many of Ulfric's army he could destroy by himself, but he knew that his destination was not combat, at least not in Skyrim.

_'I have faith in Lydia, if there is to be a hero during the battle for Whiterun, it will be her,_' he thought to himself as he rode on, putting leagues between himself and the Stormcloak army behind him. By the time he felt the icy winds of the north begin to wrap their cold fingers around him, he had already left his horse in the stables outside Windhelm. With his hood covering his face, he made his way down to the city docks. As he wandered between ships, he soon found an old Nord, sitting on a barrel smoking a pipe, clearly the captain of one of the ships as he ordered various men where to place the crates they carried. Without saying a word Darion threw him a bag of coins, which the Nord caught in surprise before looking up at him.

"I'm not into the smuggling trade," he said, "if that's what you're doing."

"I want passage on your ship, and I want you to set sail immediately." The Nord shook his head, motioning to the crates that were being unloaded.

"You'll get your passage as soon as my men have-" he was cut off by another, much heavier purse being thrown at him. The old man pulled out one of the coins, checking it's authenticity before ordering some of his men to remain behind and take care of the cargo that had already hauled from the ship whilst the other climbed back aboard. "And just where do you wish to go sir?" he asked.

"Solstheim," he said before boarding the ship. '_If what that elf said is true,'_ he thought to himself as the ship left the port, _'and my dream is to become a reality,_ _I cannot risk another Dragonborn capable of thwarting my plans and challenging my right to rule.' _

* * *

**To **_**Solstheim! Now you may wonder, if the story is all about Darion conquering Tamriel, then why am I elaborating on the 'Dragonborn' DLC? Well to answer that plainly, I'm not. When you join us next time you will see that my plan for this story is not solely focused on Darion's plans for Tamriel, but also on the struggles and hardships his allies, like Lydia, must face. As Darion slowly turns into a man worthy of conquest, the people around him will also begin to change, for better or for worse it yet to be decided. Thanks a ton to everyone whose already following the story, and to those who have reviewed and favourited, I'm glad to see that I've caught some people's interests, and will be more than happy to provide content as often as I can. If you have any inquiries into the story, or you want just want to say hey, send me a PM and I'll reply as quick as I can.**_

_**Until next time!**_

-xcaliber234


	4. Duty

Chapter 4: Duty

"We are already sealing the gates as best as we can," Hrongar spoke, pointing to the spot on a map of the city. The war council had gathered around a table on the upper level of the palace. The council sat around the table, most of them standing for a view of the map. They included Jarl Balgruuf, his brother Hrongar, Irileth, Caius the commander of the Whiterun Guard and Proventus Avenicci. "We've begun evacuating whatever people live outside the walls, mostly famers and the workers from the meadery."

"How long will it take to get them inside the walls?" Jarl Balgruuf asked.

"I sent some of my men to assist them," Caius spoke. "Evacuations are going slowly, most of the farmers trying to save what crops they can, I can send more down there and get them moving."

"No," the Jarl waved away the idea. "We will need more of that food for when the Stormcloaks arrive."

"I have spoken to other merchants in town" Proventus added. "They have agreed to our levies, and have been promised suitable amounts of compensation for when the siege is over." Caius scoffed at this.

"If we make out alive to pay them," he mumbled spitefully, though everyone ignored him.

"Have we had any word from the Companions yet?" Balgruuf asked, sounding hopeful, only receiving silence from his council.

"Our messengers have all been turned away from Jorrvaskr my lord," Proventus informed him. "They say that they refuse to take part in a fight that is not theirs."

"Do they realise that they will burn with a rest of the city if they do not?" Caius asked.

"No such thing," Hrongar stated. "If the men and women in Ulfric's army dare call themselves true Nords, not one of them will touch the mead hall of the Companions." The council fell silent in that moment. For at least two weeks they had been preparing for the oncoming battle, sending out riders to hire any travelling sell swords they came across, gathering and preserving as much food as they could, preparing the defences and taking stock on armaments. There was little more that could be done.

"Well then," Balgruuf said, sitting back into his chair, his eyes idly scanning over the map, as if missing something. "I suppose all we can do now is wait for the enemy to arrive and pray that the gods are with us."

"What of the Dragonborn? Is there truly no sign of him?" Hrongar asked, receiving only silence as he had many times before when he had asked that same question. "What of his housecarl? Lydia, where is she?" It was Balgruuf that answered this time.

"I have left her in charge of overseeing her own patrol through the city streets. She is to report anything she comes across to Caius' men."

"But she was to represent the Dragonborn on this council," Hrongar argued. "She was to speak for him, giver her knowledge and counsel. Her experience with the Dragonborn could be invaluable!"

"I have already spoken to her," Commander Caius spoke. "And trust me, there is nothing that she can contribute to this council besides serving as another soldier."

"And we are to make that judgement based on your opinion?" Hrongar argued. "You are barely in command of your own men, let alone worthy enough to judge a capable warrior like the Housecarl!" The Jarl rose from his chair, and all went silent. The dark bags under his eyes only added to the stare he gave his brother.

"My decision has been made, Lydia will continue the duty given to her until the Stormcloaks arrive." He began to walk away towards his chambers, Irileth following close behind him. "Maybe then we will see if she is a warrior truly worthy of protecting the Dragonborn." The council fell into silence, their thoughts directed at the Dragonborn. Balgruuf, Irileth and Proventus had all listened to him speak of how he would always be ready to defend the city, how he imagined the looks on the faces of Stormcloak soldiers when they saw the Dragonborn defending the walls of Whiterun. And yet now he was gone, replaced instead by the memory of a man who was nowhere to be seen.

"Jarl Balgruuf!" a cry echoed from the lower levels of the palace. The council turned to find a guardsman, removing his helm as he ran up the stairs, past the table and knelt before the Jarl, who only stopped where he he stood. "My lord, Stormcloak cavalry, less than an hours ride from the outskirts of the city!"

"They must have rode ahead of the army, they'll try to kill off what forces we have remaining outside the walls!" Caius exclaimed. "I will have them return immediately," he said, saluting before beginning to march out of the palace.

"No," Hrongar said, stopping the guard captain. "we still have people still evacuating outside the walls, they'll be slaughtered like cattle if the we pull back the guards!"

"We must look to the greater good of the city, Thane Hrongar," Caius argued. "The fewer men we have defending the walls, the greater our chances of being overrun."

"What was the point of appointing you Captain of the watch if you will not protect the people under your charge?" Irileth questioned. "The men will remain outside the walls, and do their best to speed the evacuations."

"I do not take orders from you, _elf_, and last time I checked, the only one who could have turned the tide of this battle for us abandoned-"

"Enough!" Balgruuf shouted, silencing the whole of the council, his back still to them. A sling silence drew out over that, the councils waiting on the Jarl's word. "Caius…" he spoke, and the Imperial snapped to attention. "How long would it take to bring your men back into the city?" Most of the other council members sighed at that, shaking their heads, some hating the idea of the Jarl siding with Caius, others thinking about how many innocent lives they were about to lose.

The hearth crackled faintly, it's light sending shadows dancing around the room. Though the fire burned, Lydia could not feel it's warmth, could not feel the heat. Though she sat there, in a wooden chair just opposite the small flame, she did not see it's embers or it's light. All she saw was Darion, and the smile he gave her before riding off to wherever it was he had left for.

_'I know you'll make me proud,' _he had said. How could she possibly make him proud? She wasn't like him, she was not a hero, she was not Dragonborn. She was Lydia. No title to represent her deeds, nor an ancient and proud clan name from which to draw strength. She was the Housecarl, she was barely mentioned in tales or songs of Darion's triumphs, and even when she was it was only to add the mystery and rumour of romance between her and her Thane. She was no one, and because of that she had been tossed aside by the Jarl's war council, left to patrol the streets like a common guard.

_'It's only been two weeks since you've been gone, and already I feel as weak as I was before I met you.' _she spoke to herself. Before she had met Darion she had been nothing, a skilled warrior for certain, recognised by the Jarl's own Housecarl. But despite all that she was still nobody, and for the longest of time she had accepted that, and was prepared to die a nobody. And then _he _came into her life. With his lack of responsibility, short temper, quick wit and his promise of glory. Though he had been unwelcoming at first, even distant at times, he quickly recognised her potential, and the fact that she could be somebody. And for the first time in her life, Lydia had felt like she belonged. Though she would only be recognised as the Housecarl, as the Shield-Maiden of the Dragonborn, as long as she could fight by his side she was happy, as long as she had somewhere and someone to turn to, she was content.

And now all that was gone. She had no idea where he was, whether he was alive or dead, whether he was laying on the beach of some barbary coast, drinking with women or whether he was stranded and calling for help that would never come. Regardless, she had failed. As she sat their, contemplating and thinking her way into a pit of despair and misery, a knock sounded from the door. She did not answer, and the knocking continued until the door began to slowly open. As it did, the light of the late afternoon entered the small abode, casting the man who stood in the doorway in shadow. For a moment Lydia thought it was Darion, but only became sadder when her eyes adjusted to see the tall armoured figure of Leandros.

"So," he said as he entered the house. "The Housecarl Lydia sits in the dark, giving up hope as Whiterun enters it's darkest hour."

"I'm not giving up," Lydia snapped back, but she barely had the anger to make it sound convincing. "I'm accepting reality."

"And what reality is that?"

"The one where I have failed, the one where my Thane is no where to be seen."

"So you are giving up." Leandros stated, sighing and crossing his arms. "You're pathetic." The insult came as a surprise to Lydia, and she looked up at him. "To think that Dragonborn put up with your nonsense all this time. He must be glad to be rid of you."

"How dare you!" Lydia shouted, finding her anger this time as she stood from her seat, causing it to fall back. "You can't just come in here, criticising me for doing nothing! You and your drunken crowd are the ones who refuse to do anything. You're all just sitting there in Jorrvaskr, drinking and brawling when the city needs you, when it's looking to you to help them!" She let herself catch her breath, her eyes glaring daggers at the Harbinger. "I may be weak, but I'm accepting my weakness, whilst you have the power to act and yet you refuse to." he sighed, moving further into the house.

"Did you read the letter that Darion sent you to give me?" he asked.

"Never, it was sealed, and to do so would be a breach of my Thane's trust."

"And has he told you about his plans for Tamriel?" The question came at a great surprise to Lydia.

"He has spoken of it," she said, suddenly going quiet.

"And how do you feel about it? What do you think about his plans for domination?" She remained quiet this time. How did she feel about it? At first his words had been a mixture of ramblings and over excited ideas. He had spoken of it many times during their travels from the Reach, to High Hrothgar and back to Whiterun. He would speak long and endlessly about his dreams and goals. How he intended to bring an end to the racism of Nords like Ulfric or the zealous beliefs of the Thalmor. His dreams sounded great in retrospect, but that was all they were, dreams. He was not of noble birth and held no lands save Breezehome. He had no army, no allies nor any funding for campaigns. The list continued, and with each entry the dream of a united Tamriel became evermore distant.

"I think he had the right idea," Leandros continued. "I think that if history could repeat itself, and a Dragonborn became the one to unite Tamriel, I think that I would follow that man into Oblivion." He looked to Lydia now. "Which was half of the reason he had wrote his letter to me." Lydia looked back at him at hearing that, unsure of what he meant. "The letter he sent spoke of a contract, and a detailed explanation of his plans for Tamriel. He said that whilst he will wait until meeting me to go over his plans, he has paid for the contract of us to defend Whiterun alongside him."

"Then why are you still here?" Lydia asked, "Why refuse the jarl's pleas for aid?"

"Because the contract was written in a way that we may only join the battle at his side, or that of another, namely you."

"Me?" She did not believe a word that he said, and Leandros could tell that. His hand dove into his pocket, pulling out a folded letter that he proceeded to unfold and read.

"And should my absence from Whiterun be noted, the earlier discussed terms of this contract are hereby transferred to my Housecarl Lydia, who will serve as my personal proxy for the battle. You will take your orders from her, and will join the battle only when she does. And above all else," he stopped for a moment, looking at Lydia, smiling at her. "Protect her with your lives. Signed, Darion Octavius, Thane of Whiterun, and Dragonborn." He folded the letter, returning it to his pocket. Lydia continued to sit in silence as a single tear rolled down her cheek. "Now," Leandros continued to speak. "I've received word from amongst the Jarl's men. The Stormcloaks are sending a raiding party. There are still people being evacuated outside the walls, and Jarl is drawing back his soldiers, rather than having them stay and protect the people." He placed a fist over his heart. "My brothers and sisters are at your disposal, Lydia. They gather outside for you as we speak. Should you find yourself free from the shackles of your sorrow, we'll be ready to ride with you into the depths of Oblivion should that day come. And should you need more convincing that those were your Thane's words," he clapped his hands twice, and in walked a tall, muscle bound Nord in steel armour. Lydia knew him to be Farkas, one of Leandros' Shield-Brothers. In his hands he carried a chest, that he slowly placed on the ground in front of her before nodding and walking out silently.

"What is this?" she asked, looking to Leandros.

"From the sounds of it," he said as he began to walk out. "I think it's a gift." And with that he left, closing the door behind him, leaving Lydia staring at the box as if something were to jump out and attack her. She sat that way for at least a few minutes before finally finding the strength to stand up and walk towards it. She ran her hands over the wooden surface and gasped. This was the same chest that she had taken to Eorland the day Darion had left. Slowly she knelt down, her fingers lifting the lid. As light flooded into the box, she saw jagged shapes covered by a grey sheet. On top of the sheet was a piece of parchment, sealed and signed with her name. She reached in, grabbing the parchment before standing again to open and read it. She gasped again as she saw her Thane's handwriting.

_Lydia,_

_If this letter is reaching you then it probably means that I have died, or I'm absent at this time, preferably the latter. If I have died however, there is so much that I wish I could have told you, how I our time fighting side by side has been blessing from the Divines. If I have left you alone in the world I apologise greatly for that, but know that wherever I am, no matter how much you may blame yourself, it is not your fault. If I have passed from this world, Breezehome, all that I own and the contents of this chest belong to you now, they are my gift to you for your tireless dedication and loyalty to me. As much as it pains me not to present it to you in person, I know that you will do great things with it all the same. You are my most trusted and most loyal friend, and I count you as one of the few people in this world that I can truly rely on. My gift to you is the culmination of our travels together, and I would like to think of it as the embodiment of my trust in you. No matter how you use it, I know you will make me proud and you will live your life to it's greatest potential. _

_Your friend, Darion._

At reaching the end of the letter, Lydia could not help but notice the tear stains that now dotted the parchment. She smiled, holding the letter to her chest, hoping that wherever he was in the world, he could feel her gratitude. Her eyes now moved to the sheet that lay over the other contents of the chest. Slowly her hand made for the sheet. She stopped for a moment, unsure whether to continue, but she swallowed her doubts and snatched the sheet from the chest. When she saw what lay beneath, her mouth fell open.

"Thank you Darion," she said, and for the first time in what felt like forever for her, she smiled.

"Do you think she will come?" Aela asked as she and the other Companions sat around outside the house. "She's taking quite a while."

"Perhaps she will, perhaps she won't. But we will wait here regardless." Leandros said, his arms crossed.

"Why?" Ria asked, who sat beside Athis.

"Because I have faith," Leandros told her. "If she's half the woman I think her to be, she'll do what's right." The Companions were left waiting for a while after he said that, but they did not question their Harbinger. Though his title traditionally made him an advisor for the Companions rather than a leader, the warrior band were ready to follow his every lead and word. Soon they heard the hinges of house creak, and those who sat stood up quickly, all their eyes cast upon the door. At first they her face, her hair that had once flown freely tied back into a pony tail. It was after only after that they saw her armour. She adorned a myriad of chain mail, leather straps and what looked like bone. From her shoulders down, nearly every inch of her body, save for her elbows which remained exposed, were covered in plates ofDragonbone. On her back hung a shield at lest half her size and at least three inches thick. Under her arm she held a terrifying horned helmet, a mixture of steel and bone, with the mouth area covered by a thin leather mask. And strapped to her waist was a sword of matching style, even though it remained it it's scabbard the Compaions could almost sense how sharp it was. Leandros smiled, approaching the woman that stood before him.

"Glad to see Eorland got your measurements right," he said. "Now, what would you have the Companions do?" Lydia looked at the crowd of warrior who stood before her, eagerly awaiting her command. She pondered forShe grabbed her helmet, holding it in both hands before sliding it over her head. The only thing left of the Housecarl were the brown eyes that now burned with confidence from within the helmet.

"Follow me," she said. "It's time we let the Stormcloaks know who they're about to pick a fight with."

"Run!" a man called.

"Where are the guards?" A woman cried.

"Mama! Where are you mama!" A child wailed. All of these shouts, each time a different man woman or child, each time the sight of blue banners, and at least fifty riders getting closer and closer. At least a hundred people, mostly consisting of farmers, many of whom carried their tools with them as weapons, ran for the city and the safety of it's walls. Among them were carts being pulled by the people or the mules, filled with the food and belongings that they brought with them. Some mothers and fathers discarded their carts to pick up their children and run with them in their arms. A young woman tried to hush the babe in her arms that cried out in distress. It didn't matter how fast they ran, it seemed as if the Stormcloaks edged further and further towards them, as if they were trying to outrun the coming of the night by travelling west after the sun.

A young boy, no older than seven, tripped on a rock and fell to the ground with a cry. As he lay there, his hands went for his ankle, tears streaming down his eyes as he noticed the unnatural angle his foot now sat in. A man from the crowd, too young to be his father, ran to the boys aid, scooping him off the ground. As he turned back to the crowd however, all he could hear were the thundering of hooves, and calls of men and women. A line of calvary rode past them, lead by a woman in a magnificent suit of armour. The man could not help but stare at them, and recognise them as the Companions as they rode past. Along with several others from the crowd, the man cheered them as they rode towards the threat, but quickly turned back and ran with the boy.

Lydia held up her hand, signalling the Companions to stop, and the warriors brought their horses to a halt at either side of her, forming a line of beasts and mounted riders. She looked on at the horde approaching them, that roared in excitement at the arrival of a challenge. Many of the Stormcloaks carried shields and spears, others with swords, axes maces and even a few great swords were hefted by the mightier among them. There numbers were far greater, there was no doubt about that, overshadowing the mere nine riders of Whiterun.

"Well we didn't get dressed up for nothing." Torvar, said, receiving a laugh from his brothers and sisters. Leandros, who rode beside Lydia, wearing his bear shaped helmet, looked over to the Housecarl.

"We're ready when you are, Lydia, just give the word." Before she could open up her mouth to reply, the sound of shouting and the stride of another horse approaching caught her attention.

"Housecarl Lydia!" the voice said, and a new rider rode in front of the line of Companions. He was a Whiterun guardsmen, his helm hiding his face. "Housecarl Lydia!" he called again, unable to recognise her from among the throng of mounted warriors. Lydia urged her horse forward, identifying herself. The guardsmen was surprised to see it was the most armoured of all the riders that was the Housecarl. "Housecarl, Commander Caius orders you to bring the Companions back into Whiterun, he says that-"

"You can kindly tell the commander that if I do these people behind us will die," she cut him off. "We'll hold the Stormcloak cavalry for as long as we have to until every man woman and child is safely behind the wall, either the people make it inside, or none of us will." She looked to the guardsman now, her eyes narrowed within her helmet, as if addressing Caius himself. "Ensure that the Commander is made very much aware of that." The guard would have argued, but her stood now before a woman that not only fought alongside the Dragonborn, but also at that moment commanded the respect of some of the greatest warriors in Skyrim.

"Gods preserve you Housecarl," he said, before urging his horse into a gallop as he rode back towards the city. Once he had gone, Leandros urged his horse forward also, standing by her side.

"That ought to give Caius something to think about," he said with a smile. Lydia smiled also, though it dropped quickly as she turned to look to him.

"Are you with me?" she asked. Leandros looked to her now, the cold seriousness of battle that made him the Harbinger etched onto his face.

"To the death." he said. Lydia nodded her thanks before reaching for her sword, drawing it from it's scabbard. It was heavier than she had thought it to be, and she wondered as to how Darion had become so fast in using his own blade. But it was looked just as deadly as it was beautiful, and she had faith in Eorland's craftsmanship. As she drew her blade, she heard the Companions draw their own weapons ranging from swords, axes, great swords and bows. To her side Leandros drew his own blade, a glass sword, it's blade was ruby red whilst it's hilt a dark gold. As he drew it, the blade ignited, and orange flames began to lick at the air surrounding the blade. Lydia almost fell from her horse in fright. But she held herself composed, raising her own sword about her head before pointing towards the enemy.

The Companions started at a walk, then a trot, then broke out into a full gallop towards their foes. Even with their speed picking up, Lydia could feel time around her slow for a second. It was like something out of the great tales, the ones about heroes courageously charging unthinkable odds with dauntless resolve. For a moment she felt excited, proud to take her place among such deeds, but she quickly pushed the thought to the side, there was a fight to be had.

"For Whiterun!" she shouted.

"For Whiterun!" the Companions chorused, sending a chill down her spine. The Stormcloaks drew closer, and closer, Lydia even being able to see the fear on their faces as they realised that they rode to war against the might of Jorrvaskr. As the lines drew nearer, an arrow flew from the Companions line, embedding itself in the head of a Stormcloak mount, who fell to the ground, throwing it's rider, and causing many of it's brethren to panic and trip over his horse. At lest two more arrows found their way into the Stormcloak lines before the two sides clashed. Horses screamed alongside men, swords rang or thudded on shields, and blood soaked into soil.

Lydia had raised her shield barely in time to deflect a spear tip, snapping the weapon in two. Before the Stormcloak had time to realise what had just happened, Lydia lowered her shield, plunging her sword into the man's chest. After that it became a blur of blades and blood. In the space of a few minutes she cut a man's head clean of his body, cut through a man's shield taking his arm and had stabbed half a dozen different soldiers in the chest. In the confusion she turned, her horse, trying to find Leandros, but found herself staring at the other Companions as they fought. It was as if they were the very spirit of combat taken form. Every movement they made, be it with their blade or their footing was made with the utmost precision and skill. She watched as Vilkas, Farkas' brother, leaped from his horse, sending three other men down with him in panicking throng of horses. Even stared down with three different opponents the Companion did not relent. He stepped forward, stabbing one, before raising his shield to stop a blow from another. In one motion he wrenched his sword free of the first man, cutting the throat of a third before moving on to the man whose blow he had blocked.

She continued to watch as Aela, known throughout Whiterun as 'The Huntress,' leaped from her horse, bow in one hand, dagger in the other. She flew through the air as if guided by Kyne, leaping from horse to horse, cutting the throats of their riders as she leaped across the battle filed. When Lydia finally caught sight of Leandros, he was already dismounted, surrounded by half a dozen Stormcloaks. Lydia began hacking her way through, desperate to get to him. He waved his sword above his head, letting the flames erupting from it give off a terrifying display. Whilst the Stormcloaks were too busy thinking about whether to strike or not, Leandros charged from his position, bashing his shield against the skull of one, killing him instantly before turning to slash another across the chest, all the while his sword leaving a blazing trail no matter where it was swung. By the time he ended his swathe of destruction, at least twice the amount of men who had surrounded him prior now laid dead. The Harbinger noticed the Housecarl, fighting her way through the mass of soldiers, and raised his sword in a salute, which Lydia returned in kind.

Soon a horn sounded from amongst the Stormcloaks, and one by one the remaining riders began to break and run from the storm of steel and death that was the Companions. As they ran, Lydia tried to urge her horse forward, but Leandros stepped in front of the beast with his arms raised, stopping it in it's tracks.

"What are you doing?" Lydia protested. "We've almost won this!"

"We've already won," Leandros stated, "Let them return to their master, they're worth more to us alive than dead."

"How could that possibly be true? The more of them we leave alive, the more of them we will be repelling from the walls!" Lydia argued.

"True, but they will return with stories of their defeat, stories of how a handful of riders sent an entire cavalry unit packing." Leandros lowered his arms. "The Stormcloak army will know now that to march on Whiterun, is to march on Jorrvaskr." He looked amongst his brothers and sisters. None of them had died, he thanked the gods for that, but many of them were wounded. Athis had taken a spear to the gut, Torvar was missing his entire left hand and Njada had taken an arrow in knee. They would need to be taken back into the city for healing, and to see whether they could save Torvar's hand. Lydia had followed Leandros' gaze. She had been too caught up in the heat of battle that she had neglected to notice the pain that many of them were in.

"We will return to Whiterun," she ordered. "As slowly as we need to." Leandros bowed his head and made for his horse.

When the Companions returned to Whiterun, the wounded wavering on their saddles, they were met with cheering, shouts of praise and respect, many coming from the evacuees but also many of the guards and soldiers that had seen the battle for themselves. Lydia had taken off her helm, resting it on her saddle as they made their way through the gates of the city, which were quickly sealed when the last of the riders made it through.

"Hail Companions!" one man shouted.

"Divines bless you! cried another.

"Glory to the Housecarl!" others cheered. As the warriors dismounted, the wounded being helped down before being delivered into the arms of various healers, they found themselves almost overwhelmed with the amount of people who gathered in the streets to see them. Receiving pats on the back or more cheers, the Companions lead their horses up the street and into the city. When they reached the end of the Wind District, they left their horses, and began to climb the stairs towards the palace. Before long however, Lydia could see the figures of the Jarl, his retinue, as well as Commander Caius approaching, all of them flanked by soldiers. As they approached, the soldiers made way for the Commander, who marched his way furiously down the stairs ahead of the Jarl. He met Lydia half way, at a small bridge flanked either side by a pool of water. When he stood before the Companions, with Lydia at their head, all went silent in the district below.

"I ordered you to return to the city," he began. "And you have the nerve to march back in here like conquering heroes? You're all nothing but reckless fools, the lot of you!" A few members in the crowd had the courage to boo at the commander, throwing curses and insults at the ageing Imperial.

"Commander I-" Lydia began but was cut off by a raised hand from him.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you thrown into the dungeons for disloyalty." Silence followed, a long and unsettling silence. As it went on, Lydia simply shrugged, before throwing her armoured fist into the Commander's face. The crowd cheered as the man fell into the water with a loud splash, their cheers made louder by many of the guards.

"Shove your disloyalty up your arse, _Commander_," Lydia spat. "Unlike you, we just rode out there and saved lives, whilst you were prepared to watch them get run down by those cowards who dare call themselves Nords." Her eyes flicked to the Jarl, who now approached the scene, surprised to see Caius in the water holding a bleeding nose. "Jarl Balgruuf," Lydia said as she knelt to the ground. "I understand that I went against your wishes, but I-"

"You bloody fool," the Jarl said, and a murmur went through the crowd. "You honestly think I care about that?" He moved towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You saved my people, and for that you have my deepest gratitude." he said, bowing his head to her, and a cheer went up from among the crowd. Lydia looked from the crowd, back to the Jarl, meeting his blue eyes. "Darion would be proud of you," he said with a smile.

"Thank you my Lord." she said, standing up with the Jarl, who walked past her to face the crowd.

"Though we have struck a blow against the false king, Ulfric Stormcloak," he began. "We must not forget that the times to come will be harsh ones. We must work together, regardless our names or our heritage, if we are to stand triumphant against this darkness." Many of the crowd murmured in agreement, besides a few members of the Grey-Mane and Battle-Born clans. "From this day, I declare that Lydia, Housecarl to the Dragonborn, will take command of our forces. Her fire and spirit will burn bright in the darkness, and when dawn breaks on Whiterun, it will be her who leads the songs of triumph as we revel in our victory!" A great roar erupted from the crowd, cheering from everyone from the beggars, to the soldiers, all the way to the Companions who stood at the front of the crowd. The Jarl looked once more at Caius, who had only now began to climb out of the pool. "Caius," the Jarl spoke, "Consider your command temporarily suspended," he said plainly, before climbing up the steps towards his palace. Lydia wanted to look to Caius and smile at him for her own pleasure, but a new sound from the crowd stopped her.

"_Housecarl! Housecarl! Housecarl!_" they chanted. The feeling was nothing like Lydia had ever felt, and she wondered for a moment, if this was the kind of feeling Darion had when he returned from slaying his first dragon. Slowly however, at the insistence of the Companions, the cheer changed, it was not _Housecarl _they cheered now, but something new, something that the Companions cheered the loudest.

_"Dragonhide! Dragonhide! Dragonhide!" _Lydia looked to Leandros, who smiled at her, as he lead the cheer from amongst the ranks of the Companions.

_'Lydia Dragonhide,' _she thought to herself. _'I could get used to that.'_

**Now I know that I am not the best at writing battle scenes, but hey, that's just a small skirmish, imagine how it will get when the real battle begins.  
And before you start on about it I know, I know, I made an arrow in the knee joke, please don't kill me for it! I know that it is annoying, but I promise that it will all make sense soon, this was the easiest way to set up a what I like to think will be a valuable part of the story.  
University is about to start for me, literally two days away now, so my upload speed will be greatly reduced, the only reason I put up the first three chapters almost daily was because I had nothing else to do with my time. However be sure to leave me reviews, be they positive or negative, the more of those I see, the more I know people like the story and the more it will make me want to make time to write. **

**Auf Wiedersehen!**

**\- **xcaliber234


	5. The Siege of Whiterun Pt1

_**Chapter 5: Siege, Part 1**_

"The Companions you say?" Ulfric asked, looking at map that detailed the layout of the entire city. "I thought our spies had confirmed that they were refusing to fight."

"It seems that there was more to it than believed," Galmar said, picking at the dirt under his finger nails with a small knife. "The Dragonborn's Housecarl, Lydia, has taken command of the city's defences, it seems that she commands the loyalty of Jorrvaskr." The two of them stood in the command tent alone with two men standing guard outside. The tent had the basic requirements, a large table that could fit just about any map and a small stand where a jug of mead and two cups sat. In terms of his own command tent, Ulfric preferred practicality over comfort.

"No matter," Ulfric said walking away and out the tent flap. He proceeded to walk through the camp, men stopping and bowing to him as he passed them by. Tents had been raised in any space available, at least three men to a tent. Specialty tents had been erected in key area around the camp, smiths, armorers and fletchers. The biggest of the tents were set up to serve as taverns, which was to be expected in a Nord army. When the army had arrived outside Whiterun, they had found the Honningbrew Meadery abandoned, save for the hundreds of casks that had been left behind, needless to say the Stormcloaks planned to make use of them, for what good was a siege if there was no mead to drink between attacks? Ulfric made his way through the tents, Galmar following him at a lazy pace, cursing as he accidentally cut himself on his knife.

"If need be we will starve them out, I doubt that they will last much longer than a month," Ulfric said as he stepped out of the mass of tents to look upon the walled city of Whiterun. "Though I imagine the men would prefer a frontal assault."

"I think that so long as we take the city the men will not care," Galmar said as he waved his hand, trying to shake away the stinging. "Blood shed or not, Whiterun will fall, then this war with the Empire will truly begin."

"What of the Dragonborn? Is there truly no sign of him?"

"None, our last report of him stated that he fled the city weeks ago, and he has not been seen since." Ulfric smiled at that. Though the Dragonborn was undoubtedly respected in Nordic culture, Darion Octavius was nothing more than an Imperial puppet, at least in Ulfric's eyes. He had sat there, listening to him rave on alongside that old fool Esbern at High Hrothgar, about Alduin, the dragons and the end times. He sat there, trying his best to remain calm as the Dragonborn denied him his demands for Morthal as well as Markarth. It had almost saddened the Jarl of Windhelm to think that even the Dragonborn could not understand Ulfric's cause. This war was not being fought to conquer Skyrim's and it's people, it was being fought to liberate them. If the other Jarls could just look to their ancestors and see that by tradition his killing of Torryg gave him the right to be crowned High King. But instead of a traditional acknowledgement, the Jarls stood divided, each choosing a side. The jarls of the west did not see fair combat as it had been, they saw a bloody and treacherous murder. Despite all that, Ulfric would take his crown, or die trying, even if someone with such honoured blood as the Dragonborn was to stand in the way of Skyrim's freedom.

"Galmar," he said, and the old Nord snapped to attention. "Have some archers prepare to march. This battle begins now."

* * *

"We have five thousand four hundred and thirty bodies at our disposal, one thousand one hundred and eighty four of which are boys between the ages of fifteen through to eighteen. Of the remaining three thousand nine hundred and fifty three, four hundred and ten are skilled enough with bows to make up the beginnings of a force of archers. The last three thousand five hundred and forty three are drawn from sellswords, guardsmen, volunteers, prisoners recruited from the dungeons and the Companions." Proventus finally lowered his parchment, the details of their forces, armaments and supplies written all across it's surface. "Many of the volunteers are already in possession of their own weapons." He added finally to the council that had gathered in the makeshift command post. Since it took far too long to have the war council gather in the palace, Lydia had designated one of the many stores in Whiterun's market as a temporary command post for the war council to gather in. It was in the centres of the city, and from it orders could be dispatched at the most efficient rate. The newly reformed council was made up of Lydia, Leandros, a Redguard named Rahzan who represented the Sellsword forces in the city, Thane Hrongar and Proventus, who served mostly as an advisor and administrator for their forces.

"And the enemy has how many men?" Leandros asked.

"They number somewhere between fifteen to twenty thousand," Proventus answered plainly. "That is including a sellsword company three thousand strong calling themselves the _Tarnished Swords_."

"I know of them," Rahzan said. "Very capable, organised and their leader, Tormund the Bloodied, is an expert strategist."

"So now we have Ulfric's own men to deal with, as well as a band of professional mercenaries, this siege just keeps getting better and better." Leandros said, almost sounding exited at the thought of impossible odds.

"How are our supplies looking Proventus?" Lydia asked, keen to know details. "How long could we last if they tried to starve us out?"

"From the estimated amount of rationing, taking into account the assumption of casualties and that the wells do not run dry well, it could take the Stormcloaks at least two months if they decided not to engage us directly."

"An easy wait for an army with an accessible supply route back to the eastern holds," Hrongar mumbled.

"I get the feeling that starving us out won't be Ulfric's plan," Lydia stated "He'll want to make his victory look as heroic or liberating as possible, starving out an entire city will not do anything to bolster his reputation."

"You believe he will attack us in a frontal assault then? Try and take us out in one move?" Rahzan asked.

"To take down the city would be far too costly for him, we still have the advantage of the walls, even if they are in disrepair. He won't want to lose a third of his army before he marches against the west."

"Not unless he dresses up the story to make it sound like he was fighting impossible odds," Leandros noted. "But you're right, I have a feeling that he's still in thought about just how he wants to take the city."

The council ended some time later as the stars began to shine above them in the night sky. The details of the meeting had included coming to conclusions on matters such as patrols, emergency protocols and, in the worst case scenario, carefully worded terms of surrender should it ever come to that. As the council began to make their separate ways through the city, Lydia and Leandros found themselves walking together towards the Wind district, receiving cheers, salutes and bows from the people as they passed.

"It seems that Lydia Dragonhide has taken to the people like moths to a flame," Leandros said as they walked. "Everyone looks to you now to ensure that the city remains standing."

"It doesn't help that the Jarl had to give a speech declaring that I was in charge," Lydia noted, nodding to a group of guardsmen who saluted her as they walked by. "And don't think that I don't know it was you who came up with _Dragonhide_." Leandros laughed at this as they climbed the stairs towards the wind district, the flowered form of the Gildergreen meeting them as they made their way into the main district.

"People need a hero, ones to give them hope, and the best kind of hope is inspired by names of great renown."

"What's your name then?" Lydia asked.

"Not many people say it, but they like to call me the White Wolf."

"White Wolf? Where did that come from?" Leandros shrugged.

"Regardless," he said as they approached the ancient tree, both of them looking up into it's ruby coloured canopy. "Win or lose this battle, it will be a new page in Whiterun's history. I'm sure at least half a dozen heroes will enter it's pages before this is over. Sieges tend to bring out the best of us."

"Perhaps, or it could be the first page in the history of the new era." Lydia remarked, causing a confused look from the Harbinger.

"New era?" he asked.

"When Tiber Septim conquered Tamriel, so began the third era. After the Oblivion crisis came the fourth. I think if the faith we have in Darion is rewarded, we will see the dawn of a fifth. A return to the golden age of a united Tamriel."

"What makes you so certain?"

"We're Nords Leandros," Lydia said, turning to him. "We have always been loyal to the Dragonborn, and the Dragonborn have always done right by our people. It is said that when true Dragonborn like Darion appear, it is to rule over men."

"And you think that Darion is to be the ruler of this united Tamriel? I know I have yet to meet the man, but to play as a ruler one must at least have a fair hand in politics."

"Can you think of anyone else who would be better suited for the role? You're right, you haven't met him, but I feel that there's more to him than even I have seen." She looked back at the Gildergreen, admiring it's leaves, watching as a few of the withered ones fell from the branches to fly in the wind. "All things have an end, and all ends will bring new beginnings. Regardless of whatever happens, I feel that when it is all over, someone new will sit on the ruby throne," she smiled to herself then. "And I will devote my sword and my life in ensuring that Darion will be the one to take his place in Cyrodiil." Leandros watched her speak in wonder. Though she had freed herself from the shackles of her despair and depression that she had suffered after Darion's disappearance, her loyalty and devotion to him seemed stronger than ever now. As perplexing as it was, Leandros smiled all the same.

"Let's send these Stormcloaks packing first, then we can worry about the rest of Tamriel." Lydia nodded and the two of them began to walk away, but were forced to turn around at the sounds of shouting, screams and even the ringing of blades. Without thinking Lydia ran back down into the plains district, Leandros right behind her. A crowd had gathered in the market, forming a wall that in normal circumstances Lydia never would have been able to break through with ease. Now however, at the mere sight of her, men and women alike made way for her as she approached. As the people began to clear left and right for her, Lydia found herself in the centre of the crowd.

In the centre alongside her were Vignar Grey-Mane and Olfrid Battle-Born, who stood facing each other, swords in hand, both of them with their collective families behind them. The two of them were the leaders of their respected houses, both old and dating back to the foundation of Whiterun, being as close as kin for hundreds of years. Since Ulfric's uprising however, the two clans had divided, the Battle-Borns remaining loyal to the Empire, whilst the Grey-Manes became supporters of the Stormcloaks. Lydia had expected the two families to come to blows during the siege, just not this quickly.

"Keep back Dragonhide," Olfrid threatened. "This is between me and Grey-Mane."

"On that we can agree," Viganar growled.

"What are you doing you old fool?" Leandros asked Vignar, who was a member of the Companions, though he was well past the point of his life where he could fight with the rest of his brothers and sisters. "We're supposed to be working together, not fighting amongst ourselves."

"Watch your tongue boy, you may be Harbinger, but I'm still your elder!"

"Clearly not if you're childish enough to start a fight with the very people who are supposed to be your allies right now."

"Allies?" Scoffed Olfrid. "This old goat's allies are the ones out there, the ones who were going to ride down our people. I say we throw him and his kin over the wall, let them go and support their own side."

"You bastard!" Vignar yelled, swinging his sword carelessly at the Battle-Born patron, who blocked with same level of skill befitting an old man. "We Grey-Mane's have been a part of Whiterun since the beginning! I won't let you dare say that we stand against the city! Ulfric's cause is the only future that Skyrim must strive towards! The Empire failed us, we Nords must forge our own destiny!"

Both families cheered each other on, some supporting the fight to continue, others begging for it to stop whilst others simply did not care. When both of their swords met, the two of them tried pushing the other one to the side. They tried pressing their their against each other, but the two were evenly matched. Both however stopped when from the corner of their eyes, a third blade descended. The two parted, barely in time as the blade came between them, striking both blades and leaving a deep notch in either one. Once both men had recovered, they looked to the side to find that it was Lydia who had drawn her blade, which had now made an incision in the cobble street. She stood there, fiercely glaring at either man before pulling her sword out of the ground.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves!" he shouted at them, as well as their gathered families. "An army gathers outside our walls, the city is entering a siege and you choose to fight amongst yourselves? It's pathetic!"

"How dare-" Vignar began, but was cut off when the Housecarl shot him a look that caused him to go into silence.

"How dare I?" she asked, trying to keep herself calm. "There are people who as we speak are selflessly preparing to defend you, to protect your homes and your families, and you would criticise them of that because you agree with Ulfric's ideals? The gods should strike you down for your impudence!"

Vignar went to speak again, but before he could argue back against her, screams erupted from amongst the city. Both families drew their weapons, turning to face any threat that may come, but as they searched, many of them froze, unsure of what to do. Above them in the night sky, like falling stars from heaven, hundreds, if not thousands of small balls of fire began their decent upon the city. As the first of them made their landing upon Whiterun's streets, it was then that they were quickly recognised as arrows, their tips igniting houses as they landed inside the limits of the city. The screams worsened as the buildings around them caught ablaze, even people were cut down in the streets as they tried to outrun the fire storm.

"Get to cover!" Lydia ordered the Battle-Borns and the Grey-Manes, and both families scattered, diving for cover wherever they could. Lydia and Leandros dove for cover underneath one of the market stands, neither could do anything but watch as the city was quickly turned into a inferno of fire and screams. They watched as the two families scattered, trying to get to safety. Some managed to make it under the roofs of various homes, others were cut down where they stood, bodies from either clan dotted the streets alongside those of people who never had anything to do without the clan feud. As the arrows continued to fall, Lydia looked to the centre of the market square, her eyes widening in horror. In the centre of the square lay Olfina, Eorland Grey-Mane's daughter, clutching her ankle as she tried to crawl to safety as arrows reigned down around her. Each arrow landing around her was merciless dose of suspense, those who watched on could only pray for her safety as arrows bounced off the cobblestones around her.

Lydia began to crawl out from under the stand, but found herself being dragged back under by Leandros.

"What do you think you're doing?" he shouted over the screams, the burring and the rain of arrows.

"She needs help!" Lydia protested. "I won't leave her there!"

"If you die, the city dies! You can't risk your life like that!"

"I don't take orders from"

"Olfina!" A voice shouted over all other sounds, the two warriors looked from the cover to see a single man run out from amongst the Battle-Born who had fled into one of the buildings. Amongst all the chaos and destruction that reigned down on the city, Jon Battle-Born sprinted out of cover, despite the calls of his family begging him to return.

"Jon! No!" Olfina began to beg. "Get away!" Despite her cries, the young Battle-Born continued running for her. By the time he had reached her an arrow protruded from his shoulder, singeing his flesh, but if he even felt the pain his face did not show it. Despite his injury, he scooped her up into his arms, turning back to house which he had run from. As he ran back, Olfina screaming in his arms, two more arrows imbedded themselves in his back before he finally made it to cover.

Lydia and Leandros could do nothing but watch in amazement as the man took the punishment, wearing no armour, sprinting with the girl in his arms. It was an act of valour that Lydia had never thought she'd see.

"The things men will do for love," Leandros commented, shaking his head.

"What do you mean?" Lydia asked, unsure of exactly what had transpired.

"Surely you're not that far out of the loop are you?" Leandros asked. "Those two have been in love for years, been having to hide it on account of the feud between their families." Lydia, though still surprised at this, began to smile, which Leandros noticed. "What?" he asked.

"If my cards play out right, then I think I just found a way to bring peace to the Grey-Manes and Battle-Borns." she said, eager to wait out the rain of arrows.

* * *

The storm of death had continued for at least another hour. Many homes and buildings burned on into the night, and many of the people found themselves helping in any way they could, be it combatting the flames, or giving up their own homes for the sake of others. Whilst destruction burned across the city, Jon Battle-Born, along with countless other injured people lay within the limited space of the Temple of Kynareth. People from all across the city lay on the cool tiled marble floor with injuries ranging from cuts and lacerations, to arrow wounds and severe burns. Amidst them all, Jon lay down on the floor of the temple, a blanket pulled over him, his skin pale as he lay unconscious. Beside him sat Olfina, who held his hand in hers, her eyes never leaving him. Her cheeks were still moist from the tears she wept as she watched the priests and priestesses take turns in trying to heal him. In the end they had managed to stop the bleeding but Jon's survival now, they said, laid in his own hands and that of the gods.

At the doors of the temple, which were crowded with people coming in and out of the building, stood the Grey-Manes Vignar, Eorland and his wife Fralia, alongside the Battle-Borns Olfrid and his own wife Bergritte.

The five of them stood there, watching as two of their own flesh and blood sat together in the temple. Olfina had refused to leave his side, and it seemed neither the commands of her father nor the threats of the Battle-Borns could keep her from him.

"She says that she loves him," Bergritte spoke, breaking the silence that had settled over the elders of Whiterun. "Who would have known?"

"I've had my suspicions for a while," Eorland responded. "I assumed it was just young people playing at love, but…" He could not finish. When he had been told about what had happened in the market, he had felt both relief and anger pass through him. Why had this boy, a Battle-Born at that, risked his life for her, a girl who was supposed to be his enemy. One simple, and yet so elusive reason, love.

"Well…" Vignar began to speak. "What are we to do about this?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Olfrid replied.

"Well, we can't very well keep them apart now can we Olfrid? I have no personal love for the boy myself, but my clan owes him a debt that we could not possibly repay, and something tells me that after this we will never be able to keep the two apart." Olfrid laughed slightly at this, and Vignar glared at him "What is so funny?"

"No, it's just," he paused for a moment. "That's the first time in a long time that you've used my name." Vignar could not help but smile at this also.

"That's true, old friend." he raised a hand towards the patron of the Battle-Born. "My clan owes you a great debt for this, I'm not sure how we could ever repay you, but we will, I assure you." Slowly, but surely, Olfrid took Vignar's hand, their grips strong.

"Though I normally like to have these sort of things written on paper, I'll hold you to it on good will." And with that, the two shook hands. For the briefest of moments, Whiterun was to it's core, united.

Standing by the Gildergreen, Lydia watched this new found unity transpire. She had already discussed terms with either family. Violence and aggression towards either one was to stop, and the Grey-Mane were allowed to continue to support the Stormcloaks, however for the duration of the siege they were to, using Lydia's precise wording, keep their mouths shut.

"You really think that will last long? The Imperials and the Stormcloaks had a truce, now look where that ended up." Leandros asked as he strode over to her side, his armour and face covered in soot and chips of rubble. The Companions had become an essential part of the fight against the fires, many of which continued to burn on into the night. He had pulled at least a dozen or so people out of their homes, whether they had liked it or not.

"Who knows," Lydia replied. "The truce between will at least give us one less thing to worry about. Besides, I think I finally got the message across to them."

"What message?"

Lydia turned to face him saying, "That whilst the enemy is at our doors we must do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of the people. We don't fight to protect the city, it is the people who are at stake." Silence followed as Leandros thought on this.

"So no matter what, so long as it ensures the people safety, you're willing to do it?" he asked.

"Absolutely." He nodded at this, but he did not smile as he normally did. He began to slowly back away, before turning around, and began marching towards Jorvaskr. "Where are you going?" she called out to him as he walked away.

"I'm going to make sure the Stormcloaks don't get away with this unscathed."

"What?" Lydia asked surrpised, and ran to grab his shoulder, turning him to face her. "We're not in a position to do anything right now. In case you haven't noticed, they surround us and outnumbers us. Even with al the Companions in Jorvaskr you can't-"

"So you would let this go unpunished?" Leandros asked, his anger rising, though Lydia did not back down.

"That is not the point!"

"But it is! I had to pull at least four children out of those fires tonight, three of them didn't make it!" He fell silent, breathing deeply as he tried to calm himself. "The other Companions and I had to walk up to parents with their children lying dead in our arms. I had to watch as their mothers wept and their fathers cursed Ulfric's name under the breaths." His eyes met hers now, and Lydia could see the fire that burned within them. "I will ensure that Ulfric does not get away with this. I will let him know that so long as he is prepared to attack Whiterun, his men will suffer for it."

"And how do you plan on doing that." He went quiet and for a moment Lydia thought that the Harbinger truly had no idea what to do, but his continuing stride said otherwise. He didn't say another word, he just marched away towards Jorvaskr. Lydia watched him go, wondering what he could possibly be doing. She worried for a moment that he took what she said literally. _Whatever it takes._ She wasn't even sure if she fully believed the words herself when she said them. Darion would have, he was the kind of man that liked to win, and in the end the results justified the means. She was often unsure whether that was a strength or a flaw. Regardless, it was her turn to live up to those words, and she had faith that whatever Leandros was going to do, it would be for the good of the people. She only hoped that he would not do anything stupid.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Leandros asked as he and his brothers and sisters dropped from the ledge. "There's no telling what could happen if they find out it was us." Beneath the Underforge, a chamber within the Skyforge, there was hidden path that lead outside the walls. It would be a serious weakness to the city if it was not secret so closel guarded by the Circle, the leaders of the Companions. The path lead to a drop that would be a one way trip if a Companion descended it alone. Only Leandros was not alone.

"You're the Harbinger Leandros, we'll follow you into Oblivion if that's where the road takes us," Vilkas said, placing a hand on Farkas' shoulder. "Besides, who would look after my fool of a brother if I didn't come along."

"We're all family," Farkas said, smiling. "We share the same blood, we share the same burdens."

"And that is why we're with you," Aela spoke as she stood next to the Harbinger. "Besides, it's been a while since any of us have had a decent hunt."

"That's because I had forbade it," Leandros noted. "It's not something we should take any pleasure in."

"Yet you would set us loose now?" she asked, and Leandros stepped forward. The clouds had blotted out the moon and stars, thus Whiterun Hold had been thrown into darkness. The only lights that remained were those of the Stormcloak camp, with it's many torches and campfires.

"If we truly fight for Whiterun, we will do whatever it takes to defend the city and it's people." He closed his eyes, clenching his fist. His blood began to boil. He imagined the faces of the people, running and screaming as their houses caught alight. Pain, suffering, fear, injustice. It was these things made him angry, no not angry, they enraged him. He despised such things, especially when they were wrought upon those who were innocent. Though he may claim to be fighting for the people, Ulfric seemingly cared not for the fact that he had tried to light up Whiterun like a tinderbox. And even if he did care for them, there were bodies lying in the hall of the dead that screamed out for justice.

"Whatever it takes," he said once more, his eyes snapping open, glowing a fierce yellow. His brothers and sisters did the same, their eyes each glowing bright yellow.

"Let's hunt." Aela said, a wolfish grin on her lips.

* * *

Marka made his rounds across the walls, walking on the impromptu wooden scaffolding that they'd built. Though the city was surrounded by walls, the walls themselves were in terrible shape, and until Lady Dragonhide had ordered it, the walls remained unmanned. Since then they'd built scaffolding, allowing soldiers to keep watch on the enemy camp, and when needed they could strike back with their own archers. As he walked along the wall in the night, his breath fogging the air in front of him, he happened upon another guardsman by the name of Yrolick.

"Quiet now?" Marka asked, trying to create small talk as he walked by. Since the Stormcloaks had attacked with their archers the watch had been doubled to ensure that the enemy couldn't sneak toward the city even with the shadows on their side.

"No," Yrolick said, looking out at the camp. "Can you hear that? Sounds like screaming." Marka stopped and looked out at the camp. And sure enough he could here it too. Screams. Though it sounded like hundreds of them he could tell it was at least a few dozen, the rest was just shouting. The two guards looked on at the camp, watching as fires burned, though not the kind of torches or campfires. These fires had been lit for the sake of destruction. Tents went up in flames, the fires leaping from one tent to the next. The two guardsmen could do little more than wonder at what in Oblivion was going on in the Stormcloak camp. It was then that they heard it. Howls, several of them, almost like that of wolves. Though these were much louder, and each one sent an uncontrollable chill down their spines.

Marka gulped, trying to swallow the fear that played at the back of his mind before saying, "Probably some animals in their camp, must have really spooked them."

"Yeah," Yrolick agreed. "Just some animals."

* * *

_**A touch shorter than some of my other chapters, at least I think so, but I was keen to get something out. First week of University complete! only another 207 to go!**_

_**Was really happy to see many more of you guys leaving reviews last chapter, and I gotta say I felt much more inspired to write this chapter than I have previously, so remember to leave some more for this chapter, and you can hopefully expect another one soon (**I use the term soon very loosely as I know that studying will be taking up most of my time from now on.**) Regardless I will be working on this story whenever I can, I have so many ideas that I know you people will just love. Until then though continue to enjoy the story, spread it around, the more people reading and responding to it the more motivated I shall be. Thanks for reading.**_

_**Ciao!**_

-xcaliber234


	6. The Siege of Whiterun Pt2

_Two months later._

_"Surely you must be eager to return, the city needs you."_

_"Shut up."_

_"What is the matter, Dragonborn_,_ you are not angry at me are you?"_

_"I said shut up!"_

_"Or are you angry because you can truly do nothing to save them? Are you angry at yourself because you came out here to face me, rather than fulfil your oath to the city?"_

_"I will return to them."_

_"Of course you will."_

_"But only after I have fulfilled what I came here to do."_

_"And what would that be?"_

_"To kill you."_

_"Come then, Dragonborn, let the gods stand witness at our battle. Let them watch as the power of the last, meets that of the first."_

"For Ulfri-!" The Stormcloak was cut short as his head was separated from his body. Lydia watched the head fall to the ground for a brief moment, before turning to the next man and driving her sword into his stomach. Behind her Leandros drove his own sword through a man's throat, smashing the rim his shield into bridge of another man's nose who tried to flank him from his left.

"You'd think they'd give up by now," Farkas said to his Harbinger as he casually threw another man from the wall, listening as the man's screams joined those of many others who died at the walls of Whiterun. Only his screams were ended abruptly when he finally hit ground.

"Pay attention Farkas!" Leandros shouted as he wrenched his sword free, slashing it across a third man' stomach. "There's still a ways to go before they give up for the day."

"Leandros!" Lydia called, stopping for a brief moment to catch her breath. "Send Farkas to the north west wall, ensure that there is no problems there." Leandro kicked a fourth man in the chest, sending him toppling back over the battlements to join his fallen brothers.

"You've already sent the rest of the Companions all across the walls Dragonhide," Leandros responded, catching his own breath as he, Lydia and Farkas ducked behind the wall as a volley of arrows flew overhead. "If I send Farkas over there it'll just be you and me on this wall."

"What's the matter _White Wolf,_" Lydia teased, a smile dashing across her lips. "Afraid you can't handle it?" Leandros leered at her a moment, noting her comment before turning to Farkas.

"You heard her big guy, get over there. And try not to get yourself killed." Farkas nodded briefly before running off down the wall, jumping over bodies and pushing the helmeted head of a Stormcloak who had been unlucky enough to climb over the wall at that moment. Needless to say, he too fell to his death.

For two days now the Companions alongside the people of Whiterun had fought against the oncoming hordes of Ulfric's army. This was the sixth attempt that the Stormcloaks had made to take ground. Though the battles stretched across the walls would take another at least another hour to resolve completely, it would result in the Stormcloaks running back to their camp and out of range of the Whiterun archers. They had tried deploying ladders against the walls, and each time they had been repelled. But unlike the defenders, the Stormcloaks had access to all the supplies they needed to make more. For every ladder they burned or pushed from their walls, at least five more would replace them it in the next battle. The gate to the city itself had been left untouched, many believed it was because either Ulfric lacked a means of breaking through, or because he'd much rather try and take the city and all it's defences in tact.

Though she had now sent everyone away from their portion of the wall besides Leandros, the walls that Lydia guarded were rarely attacked. It had taken a a few weeks for the enemy to learn of the name Dragonhide, and they had quickly come to fear her and the sight of her armour. No matter where she was deployed, the amount of attackers would drop dramatically, and the forces would be spread to other parts of the walls. Though it had been amusing at first, the concept had quickly become tiresome and irritating. For every man she lost where she was posted, four more died elsewhere.

It was not just their number of troops that had taken tolls. In the months since Whiterun came under siege, Lydia had been given a new scar on her chin. Though it was small, and easy to miss. Though Lydia cared little for it, as a woman it was never a joyful sight to see a scar one's face. Since water was being rationed as well, she, as did the thousands of others living within the city, had to forgo bathing, leaving her filthy. Her face was now covered with dirt and grime, her body reeking of sweat and dried blood. Leandros looked no better, he had neither bathed nor shaved since the rationing began, leaving a messy blonde beard over a dirt covered face.

Over the months however, he had received far worse than Lydia. It happened every now and again, and she often tried to dismiss it, but there were confirmed reports of screams and fires breaking out amongst the Stormcloak camp, and every time it occurred, she always saw members of the Circle, the leaders of the Companions, with fresh wounds all across their body. In that time Leandros had two scars across his chest, a third and forth, seemingly exit and entry scars on his left leg, and a fifth one across his right arm. Each time a new wound was being sown up he and the other members of the Circle would only speak of how they received them in the previous day's fighting. Lydia was quick to stop to pick up on the lie that when Farkas gave that excuse during a three day break in the Stormcloak's attack.

Though her gut told her the truth and the rumours reached her ears, she did her best to ignore it. Whatever it was the Circle was doing, it was keeping a balance between the Stormcloak army and the defenders of Whiterun. For all the men that died during a days worth of skirmishing, almost twice as many were slain amongst the Stormcloaks in these raids by moonlight. But even with the added bonus of whatever it was the Companions were doing, Lydia had to admit it to herself, they were losing this fight. Casualties were worsening from disease, many people had been left homeless by the Stormcloak's continuous fire volleys, and to make matters worse morale was at an all time low. Day after day she was asked:

"Where's the Dragonborn?"

"When is he coming back?"

"Why did he leave us?"

It broke her heart each time. Each time a different person, each time an empty smile she had to wear as she lied to their very faces, to tell them that he was on his way, and that he would save them all. It was often now that she had to start telling herself that just to keep up her own hopes that he was returning, that he was on his way at that moment. She knew that he would return, but she had no idea when, whether it was just in time to save them all, or when he returned to find a smoking ruin with corpses lying in the street to tell the story of a city that fought to it's last breath. Regardless, she carried on, for she had faith in him, and if she lost hope then the fight would be over for her, and it would soon be over quickly for the city.

"You should get that looked at," Leandros said, motioning to a cut on her elbow, the pain only just beginning to surface as the adrenaline died down.

"It's nothing. Just a scratch," she said, sighing as she heard a Nordic horn sound in the distance, and slowly watched as the Stormcloaks retreated back to their camp, just as they had done every time. "There will be worse things than scratches to worry about before this is over."

"Aye," Leandros replied, wiping his sword clean on a piece of blue cloth he tore from one of the Stormcloak corpses. "Darion best return soon if he has any hope of his plans bearing fruit."

"He will come." Lydia defended calmly. "He will come." She said again, trying this time to convince herself.

"I hope so," Leandros said solemnly as he sat down, leaning back against the battlements. "We had to bury Tilma this morning. I don't want to bury anyone else." Lydia sighed again, lowering her own head in silent prayer. Tilma was, and had been for most of her life, the keeper of Jorvaskr. For the stretch of her life she had kept the proud mead hall of the Companions clean, ensuring everything from fresh linens for the beds to wiping up the blood from a brawl. Though she rarely spoke, she was just as much a part of Jorvaskr as the Companions themselves.

"I'm sorry Leandros," Lydia said, "I know she meant a lot to you and the others."

"Jorvaskr won't be the same without her." Leandros said with a sigh. "Or Athis. Or Torvar."

"They gave their lives for others, they'll be remembered," Lydia tried to assure him.

"It's not whether or not they'll be remembered is the problem," Leandros said. "It's the fact that I have to remember them now. Used to be I could just walk into Jorvaskr and I could drink, laugh and brawl with them anytime I wanted. Now all I have left are memories and empty seats around the table. Tilma too. She looked after the hall like a mother does a child. She deserved better than to pass in the night to a fever." They two of them fell silent after that. Lydia had no idea what she could possibly say to that, and Leandros preferred to remain in silent remembrance of his fallen comrades.

"Lady Dragonhide!" a voice called from below the walls. It called a few times more before Lydia finally peered over the wall to spy a young boy, no older than ten, his face as filthy as that of the warriors. "The council is gathering in the command post, they request your presence."

"Tell them I will be there soon," she said, and the boy bowed before running off.

"I suppose I best get over there," she said as she sheathed her sword. "Will you come as well?"

"I have to check on the others," Leandros said as he slowly picked himself up. "I may join you soon." Lydia nodded and she turned to leave.

* * *

"We're what?!" Lydia exclaimed, receiving a pleading look from Proventus to lower her voice.

"I know it must be shocking my lady, but please you must keep your voice down. The walls of this place are thin and there is no telling how the people will react if they find out." Lydia sighed angrily, pacing the room, the eyes of the Imperial steward and Thane Hrongar following her.

"I thought we'd have more time," she said.

"As did I, but most of the supplies are either rotting, been set upon by vermin or are incredibly few in number." Proventus noted. "The only supplies that we have remaining are grain, some salted meats and dried fruit."

"How long do we have?" Lydia asked and Imperial was silent for a moment, seemingly hesitant to answer.

"From the looks of it, taking into account what we may yet loose to vermin, we're looking at a week, two if we forgo rations to some of the people." A long silence drew out among them. There was nothing more to be said. From what she had learned from Rahzan, the man who represented the sell swords within the city, they could possibly last longer, though that would involve no one eating, not the soldiers, not the council, no one. What little food remained would be fought over. Those with weapons, especially the sell swords that made up up their remaining ranks, would go to extreme measures to make sure that they had the most in their belly, no matter how much they were being paid.

"I'm assuming that we cannot grow our own food in the time that's left?" Hrongar asked.

"You don't know much about agriculture do you, Hrongar?" Proventus replied mockingly.

"Well at least I'm thinking of solutions! Whilst we sit here worrying about how we'll be able to feed ourselves, Ulfric and his army are sitting out there with supply wagons arriving daily from the east! Many of our people would rather ensure that their families are fed and bend the knee to Uflric, they won't give a damn about who rules them so long as they have food in their bellies.

"Are you saying the will people revolt against us?"

"I'm saying that we should certainly prepare for it." Hrongar said, lowering his head. Despite their best efforts, no matter their bravery or their defiance, the Stormcloaks were far greater in number, both in their troop count as well as their supplies. The stallion of Whiterun, no matter how much it could buck and kick, was no match for the claws and fang of the bear of Windhelm. The bear was simply born into the role to fight, it's claws the weapons and soldiers who wilded them, it's hulking build the availability of supplies. Though the stallion was fierce and noble, nobility and fighting spirit could only take one so far. Weapons, ammunition, food, water and healing supplies were lifeblood of war, and this lifeblood flowed far greater in the veins of the bear. It was then that the thought came to Lydia. The Bear was greet and strong, this was certain, but the horse was intelligent and fast.

"You say wagons are arriving from the east daily?" Lydia asked, looking to Hrongar.

"Yes, fresh troops, mead, food-"

"How much food?"

"However much you need to feed an army of hungry Nords."

"I suggest we start considering the terms of surrender we set out when the siege began," Proventus spoke. "Perhaps we can-"

"How many men do we have who are off duty when night falls?" Lydia asked, cutting Proventus off. The question caught the steward off guard, regardless he stood for a moment, letting the numbers run through his head.

"At least three thousand men," he answered. "At an estimation, one thousand of them are trained soldiers. Why do you ask?" She however paid him no mind and turned back to Hrongar."Do we know where these supply carts are stored in the camp?" she asked.

"Somewhere on the eastern flank of the camp, from there the supplies are kept under guard in a large tent." Lydia nodded, and began to leave the building.

"Have word sent out, I want eight hundred men ready to move by sundown." She said, and Proventus and Hrongar shared looks of confusion.

"You mean to sally out against Ulfric's army?" Proventus asked.

"I mean to feed the city." She said, turning back to them briefly. "We're going to take as much food as we can, and we're going to take it right under Ulfric's nose."

* * *

Leandros sat against the wall of Jorvaskr, looking out at the city before him. The wind district was crowded with people ranging from soldiers, beggars, women, children and elderly. They milled about under the shade of the Gildergreen, many coming back and forth from the temple. Crude wooden shelters had been built under the sacred tree, providing shade to flocks of people who lay on piles of hay, animal furs and beds that had been dragged from homes. The temple had long since become full of the sick and the injured, those who could not fit inside now lay under the Gildergreen, many looking up into it's ruby canopy and the blue sky that laid behind it.

The Harbinger knew that it had been due to lack of space, but he could not help but admire the way the priests and priestesses comforted the injured, letting them know that Kynareth, Goddess of nature, was watching over them through the leaves of the Gildergreen. He wasn't much of a religious man, he never had been. Although he did believe that something, or someone watched them from some greater plain of existence, he had doubted all his life that they guarded the realm of Nirn, and rather watched as events played out before them. Each argument between husband and wife a puppet show, every war the plot of some bloody stage tragedy. He kept these thoughts to himself, knowing full well that many folk, especially his fellow Nords, were believers, and he'd rather not stir up trouble with them over a few ethereal watchers in the sky.

He looked away from the sick and the dying and back to his sword, _Blazerend_, which he had been cleaning moments before. It was made from malachite, unlike most of the Skyforge steel weapons carried by the Companions. It's crimson blade differed from the norm of emerald green found amongst most glass weapons. The fire enchantment that was bound within it was powerful enough that Leandros didn't really need to clean it, most blood and flesh let on the blade were burnt off in a matter of minutes if they were not removed. Instead Leandros saw cleaning the sword not as an act of removing filth from it's surface, but rather to wipe clean the the lives taken by it's edge. Whilst the other Companions saw their kills as glorious victories, all Leandros saw were the faces of the men and women he had killed every time he shut his eyes. When he started cleaning the sword however, the faces did not visit him, and so he found himself at peace.

Since receiving _Blazerend, _it had done nothing but take the lives of man, elf and beast alike. Those lives of course had all been those of people that attacked him, and he had every right to take their life in preservation of his own, but all the same he felt a need to wipe away the spectral stains of their souls from the blade. The siege and the battles that had occurred during it's beginning had given Leandros even greater reason to clean the blade but it was only those who he slew at the walls fighting alongside Lydia or the other Companions.

The men and women he killed outside the walls whilst with the Circle were a different matter. To him it was not his burden to bare, it was that of the beast that dwelled within him. Unlike Aela who saw herself and the beast as one in the same, Leandros saw the wolf inside him as a blood lusting monster trapped within him, only being let of it's leash on occasion when the need for the deaths of his enemies was too great for Leandros to control himself. That did not mean that he enjoyed it's presence within his soul. It was far too often he felt it's bone chilling presence beside him, always looking over his shoulder, staring through his eyes and seeing no difference between neither friend or foe. All it saw was prey and meat.

Leandros shuddered at these thoughts, taking the cloth he used to clean _Blazerend _and stuffing it back into his pocket. He examined the blade, it's ruby surface shining in the sunlight that shone through and cast a red glimmer on him. It was often the most beautiful of things that were the deadliest, _Blazerend _was no exception. He continued to look through the blade, before seeing a shimmering and blurred figure approaching the mead hall. He lowered the sword to see the armoured figure of Lydia approaching the mead hall. He sighed, sheathing the sword before standing to meet her. She stopped just short of the steps, looking up at him.

"Whatever it is exactly that you and the Companions do," she spoke. "I need you to do it tonight."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Leandros replied. "Besides, what are you planning?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" Lydia snapped. "You and the others go out at night, screams and other ungodly sounds come from the Stormcloak camp. The next day the Stormcloaks aren't eager to fight and you and the others just wake up with new injuries."

"You're just imagining things," Leandros said, though his tone was clearly one of mockery, causing Lydia to sigh in frustration.

"Leandros, I'm not going to pry into whatever it is you and the others do," she began, "But don't treat me like a fool. I have a pretty good idea of what you are, and I need it tonight."

"You still have not told me what you are planning."

"We're going to raid the Stormcloak supplies and bring them back into the city. I need you and the Companions to provide a distraction on the western side of the camp." Leandros stood in silence for a moment, contemplating Lydia's plan.

"I'm assuming you won't be alone on this venture?"

"I'm taking eight hundred men with me to help secure the supplies and cause some chaos of our own." Leandros frowned slightly.

"That's quite the risk, especially if the Stormcloaks see you coming and have time to counter."

"Which is why I'm relying on you and the Companions to create the distraction. Eight hundred men won't move from the gates unnoticed, but if the Stormcloaks are too busy fighting you, they'll only notice us by the time we start stealing their supplies." She too frowned when Leandros remained silent. "Leandros, please, I know that I'm asking a lot of you, but this is far too important to worry about the city finding out you're a-"

"We'll do it." He cut her off, though he refused to look at her. "Our contract is with you Lydia, I would be going back on my word if I refused. We'll be ready by sun down." Whilst he had acknowledged his support, Lydia could easily hear the traces of spite in his voice. This siege was taking it's toll on everyone it seemed. All the same, she offered her thanks to him.

"Thank you, Leandros." She said before departing to check on the organisation of the other troops. Leandros watched her fade away into the crowded streets of the wind district before sighing to himself. He untied Blazerend from his belt and held it in his hands, it's scabbard feeling warm in his grasp.

_There will be no cleaning for you tonight. _He thought to himself. _It will be _his _turn instead._

**_A short chapter? Oh most definitely. I have written much more already, but the urge to post something to let you all know that I'm still here is too great. If I can get enough reviews and attention for this chapter, I will post the next one tomorrow night, and it will be much longer, I can assure you of that._**

**_Until then I have been xcaliber234_**

**_-Do Svidan'ya!_**


	7. The Siege of Whiterun Pt3

By the time eight hundred men found themselves at the ready by the front gates night had long fallen, the moon reaching it's apex in the sky. All of them were armed, almost all of them adorning armour. Most men's armaments looked like patch works of leather, steel, iron, and even some elven materials they had dragged out of dusty old chests, souvenirs and family heirlooms. In the end it mattered little to any of them what they wore, so long as it protected them. If it had been any other day, the many men and women gathered would talk and laugh amongst themselves, today however it was morbidly silent. For two months they had defended the walls with all their strength. They had watched as their family and friends fell alongside strangers as they stood defiant against Ulfric Stormcloak. Tonight however would be different. They were not to defend, nor to attack in the usual sense. Nords respected honour above all, but honour could only sate hunger for so long. If stealing the Stormcloaks supplies to feed their families costed them their honour, each and every man and woman amongst them were ready to do so.

Lydia strode through the crowd with her shoulder under her arm, what remained of the Companions at her back. If it had been just another defending skirmish, or if they had been riding out to meet their enemies in a frontal assault, the men would have cheered for the Housecarl as she passed them, chanted her name and struck their weapons against their shields. Instead she was saluted, given a nod or bowed to, all in silence. Though it was unlikely that the Stormcloaks would make much of the cheering they might have heard, they wished to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. Along with the silence, the torches around the gates had been extinguished to mask their exit from the city once the Leandros and the Circle began their distraction. In the hours since she had left Leandros, Lydia had not heard from him or any other members of the Circle. She could only assume that they had already began to make their approach on the Stormcloak's western flank, or perhaps they too were waiting for the right time to leave the city and sneak their way over to their position. She approached the front of the rabble, standing beside Hrongar, who stood in his scaled armour, his great sword sheathed on his back.

"No word from the Companions?" he asked.

"None," Lydia replied. "Though I'm sure we'll hear form them soon enough. How're things in the palace?"

"My brother has been doing his best with what he has. There's not much for a Jarl to do in a siege when he gives full command of his forces to a Housecarl."

Lydia's head lowered slightly at that.

"I've often wished that he had at least taken charge of some things. If this is what it's like in times of war, I'd hate to see what peace is like in such a city." The thane laughed at this, it was the first time she had heard him laugh heartily since the siege began.

"I'm sure he'd be just as ready to give you all those responsibilities as he does now." Silence settled between the two of them before he spoke once more, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "Tell me, and do not say what you tell the people to give them hope. But do you truly believe that the Dragonborn is coming back?" Silence settled once more.

Though her faith in him was unbreakable, doubt still continued to creep it's way into her heart, the way a weed finds a way to grow through a castle wall, now matter how thick the mortar binding the stones together. Darion had always come through for her, even in the direst of moments, and she placed as much trust in him as he did her.

"It was around a month after I met Darion that I fought my first dragon," she spoke, breaking the silence. "Darion and I were still getting to know one another as well as our strengths. We had been wandering through the forests of the Rift, and had made camp by a small stream. Our rations had ran out that morning, so Darion took to building the fire whilst I went out to hunt for supper. I had followed a set of rabbit tracks to a clearing, and there he was, the little furry thing. After I shot him I went to retrieve the arrow, and that's when it happened." She paused a moment, remembering the way the earth shook as the beast landed, the way dust and dry leaves were thrown about the clearing as if she had stepped into a hurricane. She remembered turning and facing the beast, it's bright green eyes burning a mark into her soul. "Gods, I was so scared I froze on the spot! I didn't even draw my sword. I had never seen anything so terrifying in my life. When it began moving towards me, I finally got a hold of myself, but I still could barely move. Instead of running I fell straight on my arse." She scoffed at the memory. "I fell over, like the way some highborn brat falls over her dress. I remember looking up at it's teeth as it opened it's jaws, some of them as big as my hand. I thought for sure I was going to die." She stopped, and gave a small smile, which only razed Hrongar's curiosity further.

"What happened then?" he asked. "Did you fight back?"

"Gods no," Lydia almost laughed. "I could barely draw my sword let alone use it. As it got closer, I shut my eyes, I was ready to die. I thought that I was had already failed, and I deserved to die a death like that. But then something happened." She looked to Hrongar her smile growing. "He saved me. Out of no where he had climbed up the dragon's tail, ran across it's back before starting to strike at it's head. He was holding on for dear life, trying to keep his balance and his grip, he looked like a boy riding a horse for the first time, scared that he'd fall off." She looked away, grinning now at the memory, and she had to stop herself from laughing. "After an hour or so of fighting it, after I watched him take it's soul, he gave me a lecture on how stupid I had acted, and that if I was to remain his housecarl it was to never happen again."

"And did it?" Hrongar asked.

"At least two or three more times. Each time he came to my rescue. I was just some foreign girl who he had reluctantly let tag along, and yet he saved my life countless times before I even started saving his." She looked back to Hrongar, her fire burning anew, as if the story had been even more for her sake than his. "That's why I have faith in him. That's why I know he'll always be there to save me, because he never once stopped to think of himself before me, he never considered the importance of his own existence over that of some lowly housecarl. So to answer you Thane Hrongar, he'll be here. I know it."

The old Nord smiled, nodding to her. Truly it was an inspiring thing, to stare into the young woman's eyes and see the passion and dedication she harboured to the man who she knew as a friend, and world knew as Dragonborn. But there was something more to what she said. Some underlying part of her words that only those with a keen ear and eye could see.

"You love him, don't you?" He asked.

The question caught her completely off guard, and she struggled to hide a blush. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a shouting from above the gate.

"Lady Dragonhide!" a soldier called. "The Companions approach the gates!"

Lydia and Hrongar exchanged a look of confusion before Lydia sprinted for the ladder that led above the gate. Once she had climbed up there, she peered over the wall to find that the soldier's words were true, the Circle, their armour and weapons covered in blood, their skin painted with in their own, were hobbling towards the gates, having to support each other just so they could stand. In the midst of the crowd she spied Aela, her armour torn, one of her breasts bearing multiple cuts as she supported Leandros over her shoulder, the Harbingers own skin was bruised, bloodied and cut. In the whole two months since the siege began, she had never seen the warriors of Jorvaskr in such a shape.

"Open the gates!" Lydia called down to the men below, and several men ran to unbar the large wooden doors. As she peered back over the wall to watch the last of them make it inside, her eyes widened in terror. The Companions had returned to Whiterun, but they had not come alone. Making their way up the path towards the city, a horde of blue banners, axes and bearskin robes. Lydia watched in horror as the host of the east, almost the entirety of the army that had gathered in the fields outside their home, made their way towards the gates. Among them she could see archers, ladders, and a large wooden battering ram, the ram its self in the shape of a roaring bear. The second the last of the Circle were inside the gates, Lydia almost screamed at them to close them once more. The eight hundred men who had been waiting in silent eagerness to take the fight to the Stormcloaks, now stood there, listening to the sounds of thousands of boots hitting the ground and the hundreds of war cries of the east as they made their way to their door.

Lydia made her way back down the ladder and ran through the crowd to the Circle, who were already being tended to by priests and other healers. She watched as Aela shoved a healer away from her, her pride forbidding her to let someone else touch her exposed body. Lydia finally came to Leandros, who had been sat down on an old crate, golden light radiating from a priests hands that slowly bound his wounds back together.

"What happened out there?" she asked as she approached, though the Harbinger refused to look at her.

"They were waiting for us," he said, hissing in pain as his wounds closed rapidly, healing magic was not as painless as many thought it was. "The Silver Hand… they new exactly what they were dealing with."

"The Silver Hand? What are you talking about? Who are they, and how could they have possibly known you were coming?"

"We have larger concerns right now!" Leandros yelled, frightening away the healer, who finished his work before moving away. "Ulfric is bringing his army to our door, we have barely enough men here as it is and Vilkas is…" his voice left him, and his head gripped Lydia's heart at what he could not say. She looked to Farkas, who lay on the cobblestone ground, his head down, tears falling silently from his cheeks and into his blood stained hands, that were still shaking with realisation. Lydia looked back to Leandros in time to see him wiping his own eyes with his hand.

"Leandros…" she spoke, not knowing at all how to speak to him now. "I am so-"

"We don't have time for that," Leandros cut her off, anger still burning in him, but he did his best to remain calm. "We have to be ready to beat them back, or none of us are escaping with our lives."

"He's right," Hrongar said as he approached. "Our eyes on the southern wall report that almost the entire army is making it's way to the gate, the rest are making for the wall with ladders." Lydia swore. How could this have gone to hell so easily? The soldiers around her all looked to her now, their eyes full of desperation for instruction. She had lead them this far, they were not going to take any orders but hers, she doubted that many of them could make their own decisions now. She opened her mouth to speak, but another voice sounded first, silencing her.

"Dragonhide!" It was a man's voice, a heavy Nordic accent echoing across the courtyard. "Come out where I can see you!" It was coming from beyond the gate.

Lydia looked between Leandros and Hrongar before following the voice, climbing back up the ladder and onto the battlements. As she peered over the wall, she froze. Down in the dirt below lay Vilkas, his armour bloodied and crushed, three arrows protruding from his back. On his back was the heavy boot of Galmar Stonefist, Ulfric's right hand man, adorning a bear skin cloak. His eyes were cast upon the wall, his hands on his waist. However, it was not him that spoke. To Galmar's side, stood Ulfric Stormcloak himself, who stood in his dark blue and grey coat. Though Lydia had seen the man only a few times before, it was hard to forget a man of his likeness. Like Darion, it was as if she could feel his presence in front of her, like he had all the power in the world radiating from him. Though his grasp over the Voice would never be as strong as Darion's, she could almost sense the power he commanded over the Dragon Tongue. In his hand he held a sword, it's tip resting in the dirt near Vilkas' neck.

"So, you're the Dragonborn's Housecarl, eh?" he called. "I had heard you were young, but I did not expect this."

Lydia watched as Galmar let more of his weight press into Vilkas' back, and the Companion growled in pain loud enough that Lydia could hear it from the battlements. As Leandros and Aela joined her on the wall, Their eyes widened in horror at the sight of their shield brother below.

"Vilkas!" Leandros shouted, and ran to the edge of the wall. His look of horror quickly turned to rage as he saw Galmar standing over him.

"You bastard!" Aela screamed. "How dare you! How dare you put your boot on a Companion of Jorvaskr!"

"And you must be the Harbinger, Leandros Ember-Heart" Ulfric mused to himself. "I must say you look a lot different than you do when you are true to your name, _White Wolf_." The Stormcloak soldiers laughed slightly at that, but many new the horror of the beast who went by that name, and not all of them were willing to poke fun at the young Nord's anger. Lydia thought for a moment that Leandros would leap over the wall to face the Jarl of Windhelm.

"What do you want, Jarl Ulfric?" Lydia asked, Ulfric scoffing at the question.

"Surely you aware, I want Whiterun, I am here to liberate it from the claws of the Empire, to free it's people so that they may join my cause as I make for Solitude."

"Surely you are aware," Lydia responded, "that there are no Imperials here save for those who call the city their home. Your war here is against the people of Whiterun, not the Empire."

"You are a Nord as well, Dragonhide," Ulfric continued, his tone becoming softer. "I do not wish to fight you. I only wish to see my people free, I only wish for their to be peace."

"And yet you would lay siege to Whiterun and it's people? You would burn down their homes? Take their loved ones from them? Jarl Balgruuf did not wish to fight you, he chose not to accept Imperial troops into his city because he wanted no part of this war."

"Don't try and deny it _Housecarl_, you know as well as I do Balgruuf would have chosen to host Imperial troops if he had known the true power of my armies. Instead he decided to trust in the strength of his walls, in the will of the Companions." He paused for a moment. "And he also put his trust in your thane, who is no where to be seen." Lydia's own anger began to boil within her at those words. "So where is he, Dragonhide? Where is the Dragonborn? Admit to us all that you truly know nothing of where he is, lest I let others suffer because of your pride." His sword tip stabbed the ground, barely an inch away from Vilkas' head now.

As much as Lydia wanted to speak, she found herself unable to do so. Despite having faith in Darion, the real the answer was she truly had no idea where he was, but Ulfric knew that. He was counting on her answer. If she spoke the truth it would strike a devastating blow to the morale of Whiterun. If she lied however, she would not only be lying to herself once more, but to all the soldiers under her command, and would be risking Vilkas' life, a gamble that she was not prepared to take.

"I…" she spoke, shivering at the smirk that crossed Galmar's face, as she hesitated. "He…" She looked to Leandros, as if to find the answer in him, but he only looked at her, as if he too wanted to hear her answer.

"He's on his way as we speak!" A new voice added, and Lydia turned to see, in full plate armour, Jarl Balgruuf, climbing onto the battlements, his sword sheathed on his back. Her eyes widened as he approached, his armour, clean of all marks and stains, as it it had just left the blacksmith. The old Jarl placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'll leave killing his soldiers to you," he said. "Let me do the talking, I get the feeling I'm better at it." He smiled, and something about the look in his eyes made Lydia smile to. There were battles that only men who fought the daily war of politics could fight. Murmurs and shouting erupted from both sides of the wall, and the look on Ulfric's face changed dramatically as the Jarl of Whiterun peered over the wall of his city to face his eastern counterpart. "You think I would trust a man such as the Dragonborn to remain within my city and defend it? A man whose calling in life is to wander the world helping others and slaying dragons. You must be as stupid as you are ambitious Ulfric." Balgruuf laughed, receiving laughs from amongst the ranks of his people.

"Balgruuf," Ulfric spoke, trying to keep his voice in check. "I have heard that you have not been seen on the walls defending your own city. How cowardly of you, I expected more from you old friend."

"And when was the last time you stepped onto a battlefield? From what I've heard the last time you drew your sword was when you were handing it over to the Imperials when you surrendered to them at Darkwater Crossing." Laughter and chatter continued to spread amongst the defenders of Whiterun, whilst silent murmurs and whispers passed through the horde of Stormcloaks. Some words fells on the wrong ears, and brawls and shouts erupted amongst the invaders. Even this early in the game of wits and words, Balgruuf was winning.

"You say the Dragonborn is on his way?" Ulfric asked. "Is that what you tell yourself at night? How could you possibly know that?"

"You may surround my city Ulfric, but there is one domain you will never hold sway over," he pulled out a piece of parchment from within his armour. "A simple raven sees your army as little more than an eyesore on his flight here." He continued to unfold the parchment, before reading it, his voice loud enough for both sides to hear. "Jarl Balgruuf, if this letter is reaching you, then I am not too late. As you read this, I ride for Whiterun with a force that will break the Stormcloaks. All I ask is that you convince your people to fight with the courage and ferocity of dragons, so that I may count them among my kin. Know that I shall walk and fight amongst you soon." Balgruuf looked up from the letter to peer down at Ulfric and Galmar, the Jarl of Windhelm almost shaking with anger. "Signed, Darion Octavius, Thane of Whiterun and Dragonborn!" A cheer erupted from amongst the soldiers behind the wall. Lydia smiled as she watched the soldiers below, their fighting spirit reignited and burning brighter than ever. Whether that letter was real or not, the Jarl's presence and words could not have come at a better time, with Lydia herself feeling more than ready to meet the invaders. Though she could not help but feel the pang of what felt almost like jealousy within her. If Darion truly did send that letter, which to her seemed unlikely that he did, why did he send it Balgruuf and not to her?

"You will forgive me if I feel that you speak lies, Balgruuf," Ulfric shouted over the cheers. "And even if the Dragonborn did write that letter, your city will be mine well before he arrives. Tell me that your letter is a fake, and I may spare your life."

"You will have my city," Balgruuf spoke, "when you pry it from my cold dead hands!"

More cheers went up from amongst his soldiers. Ulfric sighed, as least his old friend was just as stubborn as ever. He stopped however, looking to Vilkas, who was still held down by Galmar. He smiled at this. If Balgruuf's stubbornness hadn't changed, than neither had regard for the lives of others.

"Very well then Balgruuf, if you care not for your life, then what about the life of this Companion?" Silence fell then. "Swear to me that letter is a fake, and I will let him live." He said, pointing his sword to Vilkas, who was barely conscious.

Now even Balgruuf could not respond with his usual confidence. He was more than willing to make sacrifices to keep his city standing. But to sacrifice a Companion, a member of the Circle at that, would be to sacrifice one of his own children. The warriors of Jorvaskr were the truest sons and daughters of Whiterun, hundreds of years of tradition and legacy made up the fame, with Whiterun being at the centre of it all. Balgruuf looked to Leandros, the Harbinger did not ask, he did not plead nor did he beg for the Jarl to help save him. But the look in his eyes was hard to miss. He had already lost other shield-siblings to this war, and it was rare enough that a Companion would fall in battle. To lose another would not break the Harbinger, but like any true Nord, he wanted to protect those that he loved. Before anyone could respond, a shout reached them on the battlements.

"Leandros!" The Harbinger looked down to see the battered form of Vilkas, looking up at him, smiling. Even Galmar, who held the man in his grasp was surprised he could speak in his state. "Don't you dare cry over me," he said, "And tell Farkas the same. Tell him that I love him, and that I'll walk with him in Sovengarde one day." Leandros' eyes widened as he realised what his shield brother was doing.

"Vilkas! No!" he shouted, but was too late.

"Whiterun forever!" Vilkas screamed as he stood, pushing Galmar's boot from his back. He reached around behind him, tearing one of the arrows from out of his back, moving with a quickness that caught Galmar by surprise.

He continued to roar as he took the arrow and drove it into Galmar's left arm, tearing through flesh before the arrow head drove out the other side. Galmar howled in pain, but he did not let this go unpunished. He drew a war axe from his belt with his uninjured arm, before swinging it into Vilkas' neck. Steel met bone with a sickening crunch, and Leandros screamed in horror, pain, but most of all, in anger. Aela held onto him, her arms wrapped around his waist, sobbing as she stopped him from leaping over the wall. Vilkas' legs began to fail him, but even with his head half way off his neck he stood. Another strike from Galmar's axe and the head left his body entirely, falling to the ground and rolling to the side, the body falling quickly behind it.

"Damn," Galmar muttered as he pulled the arrow out of his arm with a grunt. He cast it aside, before kneeling down to pick up Vilkas' head, holding it by his black hair, now wet with his blood. He held it up towards the wall, for all along the battlements to see. "You see this Harbinger?" he called. "This will be you! Stand down and I'll make it quick for you!"

Leandros' screams had fallen quiet, replaced instead by an unforgiving silent rage. The beast inside chewed at it's cage, begging to be released, roaring in a mad fury for the loss of a pack member.

"You bastard…" he growled. "His head will be mounted on a wall in Jorvaskr, mark my words, Vilkas."

He turned to Lydia, the fire in his eyes demanding only one thing: blood. Lydia nodded before turning to Aela, who did her best to keep her own emotions in check at the loss of her shield brother. Lydia didn't even need to give Aela the order, all she had to do was nod and the Huntress let go of her Harbinger, and readied her own bow.

"Nock arrows!" she called, and the archers assembled atop the wall and nocked their arrows against their bowstrings. Down below the guards that accompanied Ulfric and Galmar moved into formation, raising their shields, locking together to form a wall.

"Attack!" Galmar called, and a roar went up from amongst the Stormcloaks, and they began to make a mad rush for the wall, raising their shields in preparation.

"Draw!" Aela ordered, and at her voice at least two hundred bow strings creaked under the strain their wielders forced upon them. "Loose!" she called finally, and Whiterun's volley was unleashed into the enemy.

Arrows struck shields, limbs, chests and some were fated to find their way through the visors of helmets, sending men and women screaming and falling into the dirt. As death intensified below, Lydia quickly made her way back down to the ground below alongside Balgruuf and Leandros, meeting Irileth and Hrongar as they made it down. By now runners had been sent all across the city, alerting the off duty soldiers of what was happening. At least three thousand men had now gathered, with many more arriving with every second.

"My Jarl, we must get you back to the palace," she said before she began shouting at the soldiers to clear a path for their jarl.

"I'm not going back to the palace," Balgruuf said. "I'm staying here, with my people."

"But my lord you-"

"I should have been down here alongside them this whole time. My place it not in the palace ruling them, it's fighting alongside them for the sake of our city" He turned to Lydia, bowing his head. "Dragonhide, I would be horned if you would have me amongst your forces."

"My jarl," Lydia said, kneeling before him. "This is your army, all that gather here are at your-"

"Stand up Housecarl," he ordered and Lydia slowly complied, almost unsure of herself. "This has been your command, your army, since the day these bastards arrived on our land. It is you who have held this city together, and it is I who is at your command." He smiled to the Housecarl, and she could not help but smile back.

But it quickly dropped when she came back to the realisation of their were now gathered at their gate, and hundreds more would be attacking at their flanks at southern wall. Men could easily be directed to hold the walls, but even so, the gates would only hold for so long, and even if the defenders of the city fought to the last man, the Stormcloaks could still overwhelm them with numbers alone. From every angle, every strategy she could think of, the fall of Whiterun was inevitable. However, to fly the white banner and beg for a surrender was not a luxury they had now. Their only choice was to fight, and defeat could not be a known possibility, at least not for the men.

"Hrongar," Lydia called, and the thane stepped forward. "Take five hundred men to the southern wall, do everything you can to hold them back." The man nodded. As he made to leave however, he walked towards Balgruuf and the two clasped arms.

"Gods be with you brother," Hrongar said.

"And you," Balgruuf replied before the thane turned away and began barking orders at various captains amongst the ranks, organising his five hundred men to come with him. Lydia then turned to Irileth.

"Irileth, I need you to run back through the city, bring every man that can hold a weapon to the gates."

"I'm sorry Lydia," the dark elf said, "but as a fellow Housecarl you know I must remain with my-"

"And yet here _I _am." Lydia argued. "I need you to do this Irileth, you're the only recognisable person of rank I can spare. I need you to do this."

"_You can spare_?" Irileth repeated, sounding insulted. "I am just as capable as any one here, I don't see why I must-"

"Go Irileth," Balgruuf ordered, catching the Dunmer Housecarl off guard. "I need you to do this as well, I will be fine." He stepped towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She could not dare look him in the eye, but his hand lightly grasped her chin and brought her to face him, giving her a smile to ensure her that he would be fine. They stood there, gazing at each other for a moment, before Irileth reached around the back of the Jarl's head, before pushing it towards hers and delivering a kiss. The jarl's eyes, along with all those who were watching, widened in shock until she finally pulled away.

"You better not die, you hear me?" She said, before running off, many eyes following her, many others still looking at the Jarl, who it had seemed was frozen in place. He remained there for a few seconds before clearing his throat and turning to Lydia, who was still staring at him.

"Not a word," Balgruuf instructed, to which Lydia replied with a quick smile.

"Now that that is out of the way," Leandros said, bringing them all back into reality. "What's the plan?"

"We hold the gates," she said briefly before moving towards the front of the soldiers that had gathered, but stopped as Leandros grabbed her arm.

"That's it?" He snarled. "You expect me to believe that your plan is just t hold them off?"

"What other choice to we have Leandros?" she asked, pulling her arm from his grip. "The Jarl said so himself, Darion's on his way, all we have to do is hold out and wait for him." Leandros looked at the men briefly, seeing the fires of fear, eagerness and bloodlust in their eyes. He could not help but smile to himself before looking back at Lydia.

"To the death then." he said, his hand grasping the hilt of his sword. Lydia smiled back before turning to face the defenders of Whiterun. Old and young, peasant and highborn. Untrained militia and veteran mercenaries. Swords, axes, shields, spears, maces and even a broken bottle. She noted the presence of both the clans Battle-Born and Grey-Mane. Vignar stood shoulder to with Olfrid, the two of them with swords in their hands surrounded by their kin. A loud thud behind her caused her to turn sharply in fright to see the gates shuddering. The ram was already at their door, which meant she had little time.

"Men of Whiterun," she shouted, grabbing their attention, despite the roars of battle on the other side of their wall. "You have come so far now. You have killed, you have bled, you have watched your loved ones suffer. All I ask of you now, is to stand your ground."

"How can we do that?" a voice piped in, and a young Nord stepped out of the crowd. "Those men out there have killed Companions, what's to say they won't kill us?"

A series of grunts and nods of agreement followed. Lydia had feared this would happen, that one man just had to say something. So few a words were enough to cut deep in the courage of the other men.

"All men die," Lydia replied, "to die in battle is a choice, you either fight, or you-"

"And where's the Dragonborn?" another voice shouted, this time a woman from somewhere deeper in the ranks.

"You heard the Jarl," another soldier spoke, "He's on his way here."

"And how can we possibly know that?" she retorted.

Many others chorused their agreement of her question, others their disapproval. Lydia could do nothing but watch as her troops descended into arguments, each shouting their opinions, some of them shoving others who did not agree with them. Another thud followed by a loud crack sounded behind her, now she was truly short on time.

"Shut it!" she screamed above all the shouting, the arguing and the cursing, and the people of Whiterun quickly fell silent. "It doesn't matter where the Dragonborn is! Right now he's not here, and that's something you should have accepted by now. He won't always be here to save us. He won't always be here to fight our battles for us. Right now an army is at our gates, every man in it is ready to kill you." She stopped looking at Balgruuf for a second, before turning back to the men as gates shook again. "Don't fight for your Jarl, and don't fight for the strangers standing amongst you." This caused a murmur to run through the crowd. "This is your home Ulfric is trying to take from you, that's _your_ gate he's ramming. If his horde gains even an inch of ground, _your _homes will burn. _Your _livelihoods will be taken from you. _Your _loved ones will be raped and slain." The people were listening now. It was not a fight for their city, it was a fight for their lives. "It is going to be a dark and bloody night, but hold fast, banish your fears and kill every man who dares walk through those gates! Do this and I promise you; when the sun rises, Whiterun will stand!"

A cheer rose up from amongst them, many struck their weapons against shields or slammed the butt of their weapons into the flag stones. At the sound of the ram striking the gates once more, Lydia made her way to stand at the front of the crowd, taking her helmet and placing it over her head. She unslung her shield from her back and drew her sword, raising her shield in readiness, many of the soldiers flanking her, Leandros included, did the same. Balgruuf stood at the front of the force also, his great sword at the ready. The ram continued to strike the door, each time the cracks in it becoming larger and all the more foreboding.

"Our forefathers wait for us in Sovengarde," Lydia called as the cates cracked once more. "I say we make them wait a little longer!"

The force behind her cheered their acknowledgement, roaring at her words as the gate crashed inwards. As the first of the Stormcloaks ran through the breach, Lydia charged with Balgruuf, Leandros and the remaining Companions at her flanks. Some of the Stormcloaks who recognised her tried to turn back and run, but were forced further towards her by the flood of their comrades trying to force their way into the city. Lydia's shield crashed against that of a Stormcloak, the force knocking her back slightly whilst the other man was sent sprawling onto to the flagstones. As she made to finish him off however, another opponent presented itself, lowering his shield to swing his axe at her, the blade bounced off her shield, barely leaving a mark. Lydia lowered her own shield and raised her sword to counter with a similar strike. The Nord raised his own shield to block, but as the blade descended towards him, he was knocked forward by one of his comrades, causing him to lose his footing along with lowering the shield slightly, causing the Lydia's sword to strike at the rim of the shield. Refined and sharpened dragonbone cut through the shield's iron rim like it were butter, and continued to sail downwards until it had cleaved through the man's helmet, only stopping stopping at where his nose was. To Lydia's relief the man did not scream. As his body fell and the remainder of the head along with it, Stormcloaks that had stood behind the man began to shuffle backwards, unwilling to be caught by the edge of the Housecarl's blade.

Whilst Lydia held her ground against her attackers, the defenders of Whiterun were almost pushing nag shoving one another to join the battle. Spear heads reached over the front line of defenders, some people even throwing their own weapon at the enemy, or throwing loose cobblestone they had found on the ground. Many archers had had climbed to the roof tops of near by houses, and began firing into the enemy ranks. It was not hard to hit a Stormcloak, all they had to do was aim into the horde of blue armour and they would hit someone. Despite the resolve of the defenders, even with the presence of the Jarl in the vanguard, they were slowly being pushed back into the city, leaving a trail of dead or dying bodies from either army as they went.

Balgruff swung his weapon across the chest of a Stormcloak, blood splattering all over the Jarl's plate armour before he drove his sword through another man's gut and out his back. As he drew the weapon free, he brought it back and raised it above his head before dropping it down on a third man, splitting him in two like fire wood. Blood and half butchered organs spilt onto the ground, and many around either threw up, screamed in horror or cheered on the Jarl as he wiped the blood from his face, though his blonde hair and beard were now soaked with it.

"Not one more step!" he called in triumph. His people cheered and it seemed as if the Stormcloak advance was halted.

However, whilst Lydia and Balgruuf held their ground, it was Leandros who continued to carve a path through the invaders. He did not stop, even when Lydia ordered him to return to the formation, all he could do was kill. Though he had been seemingly calm before, an inferno had been burning within him. He could not describe it, the grief he felt for the loss of Vilkas was just as painful as it had been for Torvar and Athis, and yet the wolf roared within him, lost in a crazed bloodlust over the death of it's pack brother. He did not think anymore, instinct just took over and a path of bloodied corpses were left in his wake, men who had moved to end him, to strike down the famed Harbinger of the Companions, to strike down the White Wolf. He cast Blazerend forward and it went spinning through the air momentarily before embedding itself in the chest of young Stormcloak ten feet away, who could to nothing but look down at the crimson blade that had not been there only seconds prior. Leandros continued to slowly make his way through the carnage, now that he was disarmed even more blows were directed his way. He blocked the strike from an axeman, knocking the weapon wide, leaving the Stormcloak exposed. All it took was a quick thrust of his arm and Leandros drove his the shield into the man's throat. After that not a sound came from the man as he slowly fell to his knees, suffocating to death. Leandros found himself side stepping to the left as one man lunged forward with his spear. He grabbed the weapon mid shaft, wrenching it out of the man's hands before swinging it wide and striking him in the temple with the butt of his own weapon, before spinning it in his hand and driving the head into the man's stomach. The man stood there a moment before collapsing to the ground, coughing on his own blood.

As he approached the man who was still in procession of Blazerend, who to Leandros' surprise was still standing, he spotted above all the chaos and screaming, the muscle bound, bear cloaked form of Galmar Stonefist. The old Nord held a double edged battle-axe over his shoulder, pushing and shoving his way through his own men to join the fight. The wolf looked through Leandros' eyes and let out a bloodcurdling snarl that echoed through the Harbinger's mind. The wolf did not see prey now, it saw only a bear who dared challenge the wolf. A bear that had to die for what it did. And for once Leandros agreed. He stepped past the man who held Blazerend in his chest, pulling it free form his chest, finally allowing the man to die. A slight hiss sounded from the blade, the man's blood being burnt off, a small column of smoke rising from it, the blade glowing a magnificent red in the midst of dull iron and shining steel. As he continued his march towards Galmar, the Nord commander noticed the Harbinger as well, and quickly barked some orders that Leandros could not distinguish amongst the shouts and screams of the battlefield, but as the Stormcloaks began to give him a wide berth he could quickly tell it had been orders not to interfere. By the time Galmar had approached, the space that the Stormcloaks had made for the two was at least ten meters across.

"So," Galmar shouted above the noise, readying his axe, "come to join your friend in whatever pit awaits you?"

Leandros' grip on Blazerend's hilt tightened, the blade glowing brighter.

"I will join him," he said, making the old Nord smirk slightly. "But I'm taking you with me!" He raised his shield, and charged, closing the distance between them.

Galmar pulled back his axe, swinging it wide. Leandros raised his shield to block, knocking the blow to the side, before swinging at Galmar, who with one hand let go of his axe and caught Leandros' wrist mid swing. The old nord was faster than Leandros had anticipated. The bear shoved the wolf back, sending him off balance slightly. Galmar raised his axe and brought in downward, intending on splitting Leandros in two. Leandros barely caught the blow on his shield, the blow still sending him to his knees. He swung his sword low, but Galmar was already meters away, his axe at the ready once more. Leandros stood back up, raising his shield. He could feel his back being prodded by the butts of Stormcloak spears as they passed the duel on their way to assault the main line of Whiterun's troops. The Nords laughed at this, seeming amused at the sight of it until Leandros turned on them, his eyes glowing bright yellow, bearing his teeth as he let out a loud savage roar. The Stormcloaks stopped laughing, something of them even smelling the foul odour of their own filth now joining the stench of battle. Leandros turned back to Galmar, his eyes returning to normal, the old Nord just smiled.

"Come White Wolf," he said. "Let us see if you are worthy of the mantle of Ysgramor."

* * *

Farkas let out a roar as he cleaved the legs out from underneath one of the Stormcloaks, leaving two ragged and bloody stumps in their place. The Companion's sword, armour and hands were now covered in the blood of his foes, though for him it was still not enough. Not enough for him to feel satisfied over the death of his brother. Leandros was fighting the man that had supposedly killed Vilkas, and Farkas was happy to let him do so. He had not joined them on the wall, but the Harbinger's screams and Aela's sobbing had been enough to let him know that the worst had happened. If he was set upon the man who did it, he would not fight properly, he would be nothing but a mad dog, and Vilkas had always told him that that was not the way to fight.

His sword cut into the shoulder of another man, and Farkas continued hacking at it until the Stormcloak fell. A spear darted towards his face, but was stopped as Lydia stepped in and cut through the shaft, the spear head falling uselessly to the ground. Farkas dropped his sword, grabbing the broken spear and pulling it from the man's hands. The man was terrified now. He wore an open-faced horned helmet, allowing Farkas to see his blue eyes, wide with fear. With his free hand Farkas grabbed one of the helmets horns, pulling the man towards him, the chin strap on the helm stopping him from pulling away. Farkas was taller by a foot, and was far larger in size compared to the man. Still holding the horn, Farkas pulled it back so that the man was facing upwards, so that all he could see was either the night sky or the eyes of Farkas himself. The Companion raised the broken remains of the spear, a mess of jagged splinters, high enough so that the Stormcloak could see it.

"No!" the man screamed. "Please don't! I beg of you! Mercy!"

Farkas did not hear the mans screams, not when he was begging for his life, and not when drove the spear into the man's eye. Once, twice and a third time and the man's right eye was turned into a bleeding mess. Though he could not hear the screams, Farkas knew he was still alive. He brought the spear down one final time, this time driving it in with all his strength. The man wernt limp, with the exception of a few light spasms, and Farkas dropped him. The Companion knelt down, picking up his sword, before looking to the Stormcloaks that still stood directly in front of him. They dared not move any further forward, and had to be pushed by the men behind them to join the fray once more.

Lydia watched as Farkas rejoined the fight. In normal circumstance she would have stopped him, but needless to say these were not normal circumstances. Right now she was relying on any kind of terror that could be struck into the hearts of the Stormcloaks, anything that could help drive them back. Despite Balgruuf's constant shouting, the defenders of Whiterun had been pushed back into the city, far enough that there were individual skirmishes now occurring in alleys and in other streets. Archers fell from the houses above them, some screaming as they fell into the battle below, arrows protruding from all sorts of places.

Her men fought valiantly, but effort could only take one so far when everyman you cut down had ten more ready to take his place. Lydia had learned about situations like this from Rhazan, the sellsword captain, who was had left to join Hrongar at the wall. It was a battle of attrition now, if Whiterun could not keep up it's strength, then the Stormcloaks would overrun them with numbers alone. Rhazan had been on both sides of similar battles, though none, he had said, were quite as large a scale as that of Skyrim's civil war. If help did not arrive soon, either the form of a miracle or that of Darion, then the city was undoubtedly going to hesitated for a moment at these thoughts, doubt could not be allowed to slip into her mind, not even if she knew that victory was impossible. But a moment of hesitation was all one of the Stormcloaks needed. He raised his war hammer, bringing it down on Lydia's helmet. Though the dragonbone plating did not crack, blow sent Lydia head first to the ground. As she lay on the cobblestone, facing the sky, she could not feel the pain or rather she was in such a state now where she could not feel anything. The sounds of the battle began to fade out, the screams of horror at her falling, now like echoes from the corner of her mind.

The sky was starting to get lighter now, the very beginnings of the dawn. Stars began to retreat from their places in the sky as the light came, much like she expected her men to do so. Perhaps this was for the best, she thought, Skyrim under _High King Ulfric._ Perhaps her and all the men under her command were the dark skies and the stars, and Ulfric was the dawn. Though there would undoubtedly be more war, Skyrim would soon be at peace, it would be as it was once was, unified and independent. At these thoughts, even if she could not feel the pain that was undoubtedly ringing in her head, she was certain she felt a very real tear roll down her cheek. Such thoughts were the kind that destroyed the hopes of men. It was one thing for others to doubt someone as the hero, but when that person began doubting themselves, all hope was lost. But then again, she never wanted to be a hero, how could she be when she had the greatest honour of fighting alongside a true hero like her Thane.

_Darion, _she thought to herself. _I'm sorry… I'm sorry that I could not make you proud. I'm sorry that I could not live to see you again. I'm sorry that I could not tell you how I really felt about our time together…_ Her hearing slowly began to return, as did the pain. She was still looking skyward, the light of dawn fast approaching. She closed her eyes. _At least I died fighting… at least I-_

It was then that she heard a familiar roar. Her eyes snapped open, though she was sure she was imagining things. The roar shook Whiterun once again, and all the chaos and clammer of battle ceased. Though her head still spun, she did her best to pick herself up, and was quickly helped up by Farkas. Her vision blurred as she rose, though through it she could see the specks of blue alongside dashes of red as a large shape descended from the sky. The red became clearer, the shape taking form as a pair of large blue wings spread outwards to slow it's decent. It landed on top of one of the buildings, at least twenty feet away, soldiers screamed in terror, the house shook and swayed under the weight, a gust of wind air sent many off balance, and a long roar filled the air once more. As Lydia's vision began to clear, the shape took true form. Red and blue scales covered its body, it's eyes a bright green. A red dragon, larger than most of it's kind. It's presence however, as Lydia, Balgruuf and even a few guardsmen new, was not new in Whiterun.

"Isn't that...?" Balgruuf asked.

"_Odahviing,"_ Lydia whispered as she removed her helm.

The battle had been stopped, the arrival of a dragon gave both sides enough sense to stop fighting one another, thought no one dared attack the dragon lest it turn against them. The dragon did not move either, it just stared at both sides, as if daring one of them to make the first move. However, a part of the dragon's neck began to move, it almost looked as if the beast was about to rear its head. But as all looked more closely, it was not the dragon that moved, it was a crimson figure, who had been riding the dragon almost unnoticeably. The figure stood, upright on the dragon's neck, and all could see his spiked crimson and black armour, matching that of the dragon, a sword sheathed on his back. The stranger dropped from the beasts neck and landed on the cobble stone below. Both sides gave the figure a wide berth, though none could see his face, for he wore not only a horned helmet that resembled that of the dragon, but also some kind of leather mask on the lower part of his face. His eyes however, all could see them, green, almost the same green as the dragon's. The figure looked to the defenders of Whiterun, and Lydia could have sworn that they were looking right at her. They then slowly turned to the Stormcloaks, and began walking towards them. Many raised their weapons in readiness, though they were quickly lowered at the low growl of the dragon.

The crimson warrior stopped at the edge of the line of Stormcloaks, saying nothing, they simply looked at the faces of the men standing before them.

"Ulfric Stormcloak!" he called, and all flinched at his voice. "I would speak with you!"

Silence followed, no one said a word, no one raised a hand, no one blinked. The figure turned back to look at the Whiterun defenders, and Lydia rethought they were looking at her again. After a few minutes, the Stormcloak lines parted, and from amongst them out stepped Ulfric, his sword in hand. _And not a single drop of blood on it,_ Lydia noted.

For a moment no words were said between the two of them, the Jarl and the crimson stranger, it had seemed as if they were staring at each other before the stranger finally spoke.

"Jarl Ulfric, you will order your men to withdraw from the city." His voice was muffled slightly by his mask, but Lydia could still hear it.

"I will do no such thing," the Jarl said, though his voice was shaky. "My men have bled for this city, I do not intend to let their sacrifices-"

"If you do not leave this city," the stranger cut him off, "Then I will kill every last one of your men."

The Jarl scoffed at this, though not all of him truly disbelieved what the stranger said.

"You think just because you arrived here on a dragon, that means you can order the rightful king of Skyrim to withdraw?" he spat on the ground.

The stranger's eyes did not leave the Jarl when he said '_Odahviing, genun mok tol Zu'u dreh ni wahl zahraan rut."_

A chill ran up Lydia's spine at the sound of the Dragon language. Though in her heart she thought she knew the answer, she was eager to know who this man was.

Odahviing did not say a word, instead he took off from his perch, and began to fly towards the south. The stranger's gaze did not leave the eyes of the Jarl, even as the whole city heard the dragon's roar once more, even as they saw the smoke rising, the screams of the hundreds of men who had waited at the camp, all of them burning alive. The screams and fire continued on for a few minutes before the the red dragon took to circling above the city.

Ulfric began to tremble. All he had needed to hear was the screams. All he had needed was to know that this man commanded the dragon, and it obeyed.

"Who are you?" he asked, his tone changing dramatically to one of what was now fear.

The stranger removed his horned helmet, revealing a head of short, messy brown hair. He tucked the helm under his arm before reaching up with his free hand to pull down the mask, revealing a light brown beard and a long jagged scar going down from his right brow and stopping an inch below his eye.

"I will not ask again Ulfric," Darion spoke. "Leave this city now, or I will personally kill every last one of your men."

Ulfric began to shake, with rage or fear was uncertain.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said. "You're supposed to be dead, or at the very least far away from here."

Darion smiled slightly.

"Sorry to disappoint you," he said, looking past Ulfric to view his soldiers. "You're men look like they've been through quite the ordeal. They're tough, I'll give them that. I think it's time you let them all go home, let them be with their families." His last sentence he spoke a little louder, allowing enough of the Stormcloaks to hear him.

Murmurs and whispers passed through the Nord army, and Darion knew that his words had made their impact.

"They will return home when they take this city," Ulfric replied looking up at the dragon who still circled above them, "My men have killed dragons before, they can do it again if they have to."

"That's nice to know Ulfric," Darion replied, walking past the Jarl and into the lines of his men, who gave way for the Dragonborn. "And just who amongst these men are you willing to sacrifice for this city?" He stopped and turned to one of the soldiers, pointing at him. He was young, with long brown hair flowing from out of his helmet. "You, there," he spoke, and the man flinched slightly. "What is your name?"

"T-Torolf, sir," the man stuttered.

"I'm not a sir," Darion told him, "I am not your superior. And what did you do before you joined the Stormcloaks?"

The man was slow to answer, if anything he was confused by the simplicity of the question.

"I-I was a s-stone mason's apprentice, si- I mean… Dragonborn."

"And how old are you?"

"Nineteen."

Darion stopped turned back to Ulfric.

"So Ulfric, are you willing to sacrifice Torolf here? A nineteen year old apprentice, learning the valued craft of masonry. How many others like him are in your army Ulfric? How many more are you willing to sacrifice until Whiterun is yours?"

"As many as I need to," Ulfric stated. "These men swore oaths to me, they swore to fight for me until I took my place on throne."

"I swore to defend this city," Darion argued. "I swore to be here when your army arrived, and I wasn't. I swore to protect the people of Whiterun and I failed. My only hope is to beg for their forgiveness." He then turned back to the Stormcloaks. "If even the Dragonborn can break his oath, then surely you are all capable of such a thing. Return to your families, return to your trades. If soldiering is your trade then seek a new one. Leave this city in peace, and no one else has to die, continue your attack… and I will finally act on my oath, and defend this city to my last breath."

No man moved, but Lydia could tell by the murmurs that passed through either side's ranks that Darion had won the game of words and wit, one that Balgruuf had played with Ulfric on the wall before the bloodshed had begun. Ulfric was trembling now, the proud Jarl, who was only a few hours ago commanding an army of thousands, was now being looked upon by his own men as a blood thirsting tyrant who was willing throw away the lives of his people for the sake of his ambition. And the man before him, the Dragonborn, an Imperial of all things, was the cause of it all. All because of the dragonblood that flowed through his veins, his word was seen as stronger than his, and all he could do was watch as his men slowly fell into disloyalty. All he could now was salvage what little he could of his reputation.

"Galmar!" he called, and the old Nord soon appeared from within the rank, leaving his halted duel with the Harbinger. "Order the men to collect the dead and ready the wounded for transport, we're leaving.

One could almost hear the sighs of relief from amongst both sides as Galmar began barking orders to the men, who slowly began to turn and march away. As they left, many sheathed their weapons to pick up their wounded comrades, some of whom would probably not survive the journey home.

"I will return to Windhelm," Ulfric said to Darion as he was left with the Dragonborn, a few of his personal guards standing beside him. "But know this, _Imperial_, this is not over. The next time we meet, it will be on the battlefield, and I will do what even dragons have failed to do, I will kill you. I will kill you and take Skyrim back for the Nords. I will not let even the Dragonborn stop me from freeing my homeland."

Darion began to walk past him anb back to the Whiterun battle line but stopped and back to Ulfric.

"You're right Ulfric, this is not the end," he said. "It is the beginning."

"Of what?" Ulfric asked.

"Of my rise, and your downfall."

Darion smiled then, a smirk that brought the Jarl's blood to the boil as the two turned from one another and went their separate ways. Darion stopped and looked back at the Jarl once more.

"Oh, and Ulfric," he called, catching the Jarl's attention. "I only had your camp and your people burned. The supply wagons in your camp are to be left behind. They will be your gift to the people of Whiterun." He grinned to himself as the Jarl said nothing, a silent agreement. Darion let his smile grin die down before he turned and continued to approach the soldiers of Whiterun. As he did a single voice cried out,

'_Dragonborn!"_

Another voice shouted the same, and soon the defenders of Whiterun chanted the name, as if he had been fighting alongside them the whole time. As he approached the crowd, Balgruuf stepped forward, a smile on the old man's face, it almost looked as if the Jarl was going to cry. The two of them clasped arms, smiling at each other.

"I knew you would return," The Jarl spoke. "I had my doubts, but I had faith in you."

"You got my letter didn't you?" Darion said. "I told you I was on my way."

"Yes, but where is this '_force_' you spoke of? Unless you spoke only of yourself?"

Darion looked skyward to Odahviing, who continued to circle overhead.

"What? he doesn't count?" he asked with a grin, and Jarl merely scoffed and shook his head.

Darion moved past the Jarl, standing before Lydia. Speaking down to the Jarl of Windhelm had been simple, trying to speak to his housecarl was difficult. The two had stood in silence for a moment, Darion with his voice caught in his throat, and Lydia waiting on him to speak.

"Well…" Darion began, "The armour looks good on you, glad to know I-" He was silence as Lydia threw an armoured fist into his face, sending the Dragonborn reeling backwards, having to be caught by Balgruuf. He groaned in pain, rubbing the spot where she had struck as he tried to stand back up. "Okay, I probably deserved that."

"Yeah," Lydia sighed, before stepping forward grabbing him by shoulders and pulling him into an embrace.

Darion smiled, and hugged her back, whispering in her ear, "Sorry I'm late."

"You better be," Lydia whispered back, tears running down her cheeks, a smile on her lips an unnoticed by all; a blush on her cheeks.

As they parted, Lydia looked up into her Thane's eyes, noting his beard, his scar and it was only then that she noticed a largest difference.

"When did you get taller than me?"

* * *

It had taken most of the day for both sides to gather the dead and tend to the wounded, by the time the Stormcloak army departed Whiterun Hold, most of them glad to be marching home, the city was alive in celebration in the late afternoon, despite the count of the fallen. The supplies that had been '_given'_ by the Stormcloaks, were packed with more food, water, clothing, medicine and mead than the people had seen in months. The streets were alive once more, a bonfire was even set up in the market place, it's fuel was all the shields, weapons, banners and ladders that the Stormcloaks had left behind. As a symbol of their victory, Darion instructed Odahviing to light the bonfire himself, burning the symbol of the Bear in a torrent of dragon-fire that would burn for days to come.

Though the people had been sceptical of the dragon, many quickly came to accept the presence of Odahviing, who, as a sign of good will from the Jarl, was given temporary residence on the Great Porch in Dragonsreach, though the dragon kept a weary eye on the trap that hung above him. For hours people streamed onto the porch, and knelt before Odahviing, making offerings of meat that they had acquired from the supply wagons. The Grey-Manes and Battle-Borns gave the most, both offering their prized cows that they had tended to during the siege in their own gardens. Though Odahviing seemed as if he grew tired of the praises, Darion knew all too well that the dragon felt rather good about himself, to him it was like the days before the Dragon War, when mortals bowing to dragons was a way of life.

As night fell on the city, hundreds were gathered in Dragonsreach's throne room. People from all classes and clans tried to see the ceremony occurring before the throne as the Jarl granted rewards and praises upon distinguished captains soldiers who had showed exemplary valour on the battlefield. Unfortunately the Jarl's brother Hrongar had fallen at his post at the wall, though according to the reports and stories, he took a hundred men with him to the grave before succumbing to multiple wounds. Rahzan and his sell swords were paid their fees, including a bonus for their ferocity in battle, and though the Redguard captain didn't admit, he was just glad to see the city standing.

Though Leandros was absent, the Companions were honoured by the Jarl, and given rewards of land and gold, Aela being gifted with an old elven bow from the Jarl's armoury. Farkas was offered the Jarl's condolences for the death of his brother, and days later a funeral pyre would be made for him outside the city walls, almost the entirety of the city, including Balgruuf, were present.

As the Companions were dismissed, Balgruuf let silence settle over the room, and stood from the throne, where he was flanked by Irileth and Darion, who still wore his crimson and black armour.

"We have all suffered together through this madness," he spoke. "Together we have bled, we have lost and we have sacrificed for our freedom. However, none of us would be here today if it were not for the courage and strength of one woman." He fell silent, looking to the small crowd of nobles, captains and Companions that gathered to the left of his throne. "Housecarl Lydia, approach." From the front of the crowd strode Lydia, still in her armour, which she had cleaned though her face still had the light smears of dirt and blood on it. As she strode forward, the eyes of the palace were upon her, including Darion who found himself smiling as Lydia approached and knelt before the throne.

"Housecarl Lydia," Balgruuf continued. "Were it not for your efforts, and tireless battle against the invaders, our city would have fallen. For that you have my eternal gratitude, and that of all in my Hold.

The crowd applauded the jarl words, cheers rising up from amongst the crowd.

The Jarl held up his hand to silence them as he continued, "However, words, gold and land will never come close to how much you deserve for your deeds. Therefore, you shall have nothing less than what the truest hero of Whiterun deserves." He turned to Darion. "Thane Darion Octavius, has your Housecarl fulfilled her duty to you?"

Lydia's eye widened, and she looked up at her Thane, who looked down at her with a smile.

"There has never lived a more loyal or capable Housecarl." he spoke.

"Upon my asking, would you free her form her oath to protect you?"

"I would free her from her service to me, so as that she may be honoured as she deserves."

"Darion?" Lydia whispered to him, she made to protest, but he did not hear her as the jarl continued to speak.

"Then by my right as the Jarl of Whiterun Hold, I name you Lydia Dragonhide." the Jarl stopped smiled at her. "You knelt as a Housecarl, rise a Defender, and a _Thane _of Whiterun!"

Lydia's felt her jaw fall open at this, and as she slowly rose to her feet, the palace roared in exaltation. Lydia looked to Darion, who winked at her before she turned to face the people. who began chanting her name once more.

* * *

Leandros continued to wipe the cloth across Blazerend's blade, feeling relief wash over him as he wiped clean the deaths of the men he had slain from the ruby blade. The celebrations were continuing across Whiterun, and many of the Companions were out there joining the people, but Leandros remained on the steps of Jorvaskr. Despite even Aela's pleading, the Harbinger decided he wanted to sit out on the celebrations, and found himself sitting in the moonlight. He had not killed Galmar Stonefist, and the wolf inside howled for vengeance. It had seemed that whilst the rest of the city celebrated their victory, he had felt nothing but defeat. He had failed to protect his shield brother, his pack brother, his friend, and his chance for vengeance was pulled away form him because the Dragonborn didn't want anymore bloodshed.

He spat at the ground, and continued cleaning Blazerend, barely noticing the armoured figure that approached him, their spiked armour a silhouette in the darkness.

"Not now Lydia," Leandros said. "I just want to be left alone."

"But I was so eager to meet you," a man's voice said, and Leandros looked up to find that it was not Lydia who approached, but the Dragonborn himself. "A beautiful sword, may I?" he asked, holding out his hand. Leandros reluctantly handed over the blade. Darion took it in hand, testing the weight in his hands swinging it in front of him. "A fine weapon, I've heard of only two others of it's likeness."

"Chillrend and Stormrend," Leandros replied, as Darion handed back the blade. "I've heard the legends."

"I'm sure you have," Darion said as he sat down next to the Harbinger. "I came to thank you, for standing by Lydia's side. I fear what may have happened had the Companions not intervened."

"You paid us to do it. Why are you really here Dragonborn? I doubt its just to offer your gratitude."

Darion chuckled slightly.

"I see you're not just some muscle bound warrior. That's good, I'm counting on you to be more than that."

"I"m assuming you're referring to your plans?"

"Do you still agree with them?"

Leandros stood from the step, sliding Blazerend back into it's sheath. He crossed his arms, looking over the people who danced around the Gildergreen in rejoice.

"I lost three brothers to this siege. All of them good men. I can only hazard to think that I will lose more if I follow you."

"Many people will die," Darion said, still seated on the steps. "I wish it did not have to be so, but the ends will justify the means."

"Are you sure of that?" Leandros asked, turning back to face the Dragonborn. "How do I know that you won't turn into some tyrant? How do I know this isn't just so you can gain power over Tamriel?"

"Don't be a fool harbinger," Darion scoffed as he stood. "This _is_ to gain power over Tamriel, and in doing so I will bring peace to the continent. If more of your brothers and sisters die I promise it will not be in vain." He placed a hand on the Harbinger's shoulder. "I cannot do this without your help Leandros, I need the strength of Jorvaskr. And I will certainly need _you_ in the days to come."

The two of them fell silent, the only sound coming from the cheers and songs of the people before Leandros sighed.

"Lydia trusts you, she has faith in you. And so will I." He drew Blazerend and knelt before Darion. "The warriors of Jorvaskr are at your disposal, Dragonborn. When next you call on us, we will be ready."

Darion smiled, patting the Nord on the shoulder.

"Glad to hear, now stand up already, I hate having people bow to me," he said, causing Leandros to chuckle slightly as he stood.

"If you plan to be Emperor, then you best get used to it."

"I suppose I'll have to," Darion said with a smile. "Farewell Leandros. There's still much I have to do, but I will call on you when I need you." he said before turning and walking away.

"Farewell, Dragonborn," Leandros spoke.

Before he left, Darion stopped and turned back to the Harbinger.

"And don't worry, your secret is safe with me, _White Wolf._" He said with a wink before continuing.

Leandros shook his head, smiling as he sheathed Blazerend once more. As he turned to enter Jorvaskr however, a voice spoke to him.

"Harbinger?" it asked, and Leandros turned to find at twenty people standing before him, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. The man who had spoken was a Redguard, young with short black hair, holding his hat in front of him. The rest were mainly Nord men and women along with two or three dark elves making up their ranks. They all wore battered and bloodied armour, each with weapons on their belts. "You are Leandros Ember-Heart, correct?"

"Whose asking?"

"My name is Faras," the Redgaurd spoke. "I ran butcher shop in the market district, but it was burned down during the battle."

"And what do you want me to do about it?" Leandros asked, "If you want compensation go speak to the Jarl, I'm not interested." His words caused the men to become more nervous, and he began twisting and squeezing his hat in his hands

"Well, many of us had our businesses burned down, or we simply can't go back to running a shop for the rest of our lives." He turned back, motioning to the people who had come along with him. "So we would ask you for the honour of joining the Companions."

The request caught Leandros off guard, and he scanned the eyes of all that had gathered before him. They each that fire, the same fire that he had seen in battle countless times during the siege, the kind of fire that turned ordinary men and women into warriors. Leandros smiled, and as the scene played out before him, he could not help but feel the warmth of nostalgia.

"Would you now? Here, let me have a look at you." He said motioning them all to come forward. He inspected each man and woman, all of them brave enough to look him in the eyes. "Hm, yes, perhaps. You all posses a certain strength of spirit."

"We know that we are of no great renown, Master Ember-Heart," Faras said, "but we would ask you all the same."

Leandros shook his head.

"I am nobody's master. Sometimes the famous come to us," he said. "Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart, and their arm of course," he added. "How are you all with those weapons?"

The men and women looked amongst themselves, none of them wanting to speak of how the siege had been their first chance to truly use a weapon on another person.

"We still have much to learn," Faras said, causing Leandros to smile.

"Excellent, then let's get started."

* * *

By the time the sun rose the next day, Darion and Lydia were already on their way out of the city, leading their horses down the cobbled path towards the gates. Their horses carried saddle bags filled with persevered food they needed, Lydia however being sick of eating preserved jerky for almost the entire siege. On their saddles as well hung their helmets, both made into the shape of dragon's horns, and yet both so entirely different, Lydia's clearly designed to intimidate, where as Darion's looked more piratical in it's use. All who they passed greeted them, offering them their blessings as the two made their way through the remains of the carnage.

"You sure you're ready to travel?" Darion asked. "We could stay a few more days if you need to."

"I'll be fine," Lydia replied. "My head still hurts a bit but the healers said I healthy.

"Good thing I had that armour made for you then, otherwise I'd have been scraping you off the street."

"Speaking of which, how did you get your armour?" Lydia asked, looking once more at the crimson scale plating that covered him. "I thought you had Eorland use up all the scales and bones you had to make mine."

"I did. Whilst I was gone I ran into a few more dragons though, and they were more than willing to donate them. As for making it I leaned how to, took me a while to figure it out, but eventually I got it. It's made mostly of scales rather than bone, so it's a little lighter. And I made this mask from dragon skin." He said as he pulled up over the lower half of his face, and for the first time Lydia could see it was leathery in its material, similar to that of any other smaller reptile. "It's even fire proof." He added proudly.

"And the red armour? How did you manage that?"

Darion smiled at that, and looked to the sky, scanning it for a moment.

"Let's just say Odahviing woke up one day and was missing a few scales." He said, causing Lydia to laugh. They walked on in silence until they passed the stables beyond the city walls, receiving more greetings and bows from citizens as they passed by, many returning to their farms to asses the damage the siege had done to them. Amongst them, Lydia spotted a small child, and although the siege had left him looking a little thinner, she could tell it was one of the same children that had ran from the Stormcloak cavalry on her first day leading the Companions.

"So…" Lydia began, breaking the silence. "Where were you exactly?"

"Solstheim," Darion replied, though beyond that he said nothing else.

"Okay, why were you there? What was so important you had to leave the city?"

Darion stopped stopped moving, Lydia continuing forward a few paces before stopping herself. His eyes were cast away form her, looking off into the distance, though it was not the scenery that he looked at. Lydia could tell that he was remembering whatever happened on that island, like an old war veteran looking back on the horror of a life of service.

"I'm sorry Lydia," he said, "I want to tell you, I want you to know, but…"

Lydia walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Darion, you know you can trust me," she said. "You know that whatever happened out there you can-"

"I trust you more than anyone else alive Lydia," he cut her off. "But I need time. Time to think abbot what happened, about the things I've seen, the things I've done." He turned his gaze to her. "Just give me time, I'll tell you someday."

Lydia smiled and nodded.

"Whenever you're ready my Thane, take all the time you want."

Darion laughed, shaking his head and began to mount his horse.

"_You're_ a Thane now," he said. "I don't think you can keep calling me that."

"I can call you whatever I want to," she said with a smile as she pulled herself into her own saddle. "I'm your equal now."

"I seem to recall that you didn't need to be my equal to call me whatever you wanted. I seem to remember you calling me a bastard many times."

"Well now I can do it without breaking my oath." she said, urging her horse forward, Darion shaking his head and sighing before following after her. "So, now that you're back, what's next?"

"Someone's eager to see me conquer the world," Darion laughed. "Next thing I now you'll be taking the ruby throne before I do."

"Well someone's got to do it," she said with a giggle. "But in all seriousness, what's next?"

Darion smiled and looked on down the road before speaking. "The Companions will make the beginnings of my army. But before I go marching anywhere I'm going to need a unified Skyrim, and to do that I'm going to need to gold, weapons, supplies and more importantly, allies, ones that will last until I conquer Tamriel."

"And who are these allies you'll be needing?"

"For starters," Darion said, pulling a small flower out of his pocket, which Lydia quickly recognised as nightshade. "We're going to need a dead body, some candles and a knife."

Lydia's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and horror. "Darion… you don't mean…"

The Dragonborn simply smirked before whispering, "_Sweet mother, Sweet Mother, send your child unto me…"_

_**Well you guys asked for the next chapter, and I promised it would be a long one, over thirteen and a half thousand words to be more specific. In all honesty I'm not entirely sold on the job I did, for me it felt rushed, mostly because I just wanted to get past the bloody siege and get on with the story. From here it will be a collection of slightly smaller chapters, and as you heard Darion say, it'll centre around him involving some less than pleasant company, because as we all know, not all wars are waged on the battle field. **_

**_So whilst you're waiting you can leave a review, or a follow /favourite if you're new to the story. Trust me, reviews make me want to write more, the more I see them, the more I feel like writing because people will be either wanting new chapters or none at all (the latter of which I write for just to piss them off .) _**

_**Sayonara**_

-xcaliber234


	8. Listener

_Listener_

_'A child of fire prays to me now. His voice is that of which brings the world to heel. He seeks a contract, bound by blood, through which he will claim many a life. Go now, seek this mortal of dragon blood, seek him out near what remains of the Sanctuary in Falkreath._

The brown eyes of a young Breton snapped open, looking up at the coffin. Had she heard right? _A mortal of Dragon Blood?_ Alyce sat kneeling before the Night Mother, the ancient matron of the Dark Brotherhood. There were no other mortals alive who could hear her voice, none but Alyce who served the Night Mother as her Listener, the one who could hear her words and relay them to the rest of the Brotherhood. She brushed a lock of her blood red hair behind her ear as she turned and walked away from the unholy matron's coffin, and descended further into the sanctuary. It was still early in the morning, the sun had barely began to kiss the snow covered landscape outside, but already many of her family were awake, going about their business.

Since the death of Emperor Titus Mede II, and since Alyce took up her duty as the Listener, the Dark Brotherhood had never seen such wealth, respect and power in centuries. Apprentices now roamed the halls of the Dawnstar Sanctuary and the ancient catacombs had to be expanded so that they now housed hundreds of assassins where it had once made up the home of no more than a dozen. Contracts came flooding in, and at times rumors of potential clients reached the Sanctuary faster than Alyce could hear them from the Night Mother. Scorned lovers, jealous siblings, greedy merchants and desperate highborn. There was almost no kind of person throughout Skyrim that they had not received work from now. Sometimes word from other lands reached them, and many times now had Alyce sent her brothers and sisters on journeys across Tamriel from as close as High Rock to as far as Elsweyr. Though some had never returned, there were many who came back changed and with great rewards for the brotherhood. Foreign assignments were also great ways to test apprentices, in one case she had sent a Dunmer woman, young, fragile and timid. When she returned she was practically glowing with confidence, skill and new found strength. Yes, life had indeed been restored into the Brotherhood whose sole business was death.

As she made her way through the Sanctuary commons, Alyce received bows and acknowledgements from near by assassins she passed, many of whom wore the standard armor of the Brotherhood, compared to her attire of robes, typically worn by the Brotherhood's mages. Humans, elves and all beast races lived together within the Sanctuary, and many times Alyce had heard the saying that the Dark Brotherhood stood more united than all the Lords and Ladies of Tamriel combined. As she made her way down into the depths of the sanctuary, the color of the walls changed from the age old moss covered stones that had made up the original sanctuary, to the smooth and clean ones that had been part of their many expansions. Though the cost had been quite significant, the flood of contracts they received ensured that they were more than capable of paying for it.

As she walked the sounds of swords clashing became louder, the grunts and moans of training became clearer and more distinguishable to those of pleasure (which at many times echoed through the sanctuary). Alyce soon found herself entering a large room, empty save for weapon racks, training dummies and targets, as well as the several men and women of a variety of races that stood around the edges of the room, their eyes locked on the dance of steel and blood that played out before them.

In the center of the room two men circled each other, one a tall broad shouldered Nord who held an axe in either hand, the other a slim Imperial, who held a single long sword, it's make that of simple iron. Both men wore only a pair of trousers and their boots though both were far different in their physique. The Nord was a mountain of muscle and hair, whilst the Imperial was much shorter, though his muscles were far more toned. The Nord was covered in sweat, his breath escaping him as he panted. The Imperial stood stone still, his sword raised, and barely a drop of sweat on his body.

The Nord let out a snarl and charged, swinging his axes one after another, each time the Imperial blocked the blows to the side, before the Nord swung both axes to the left in unison. The Imperial simply ducked under the blow and stood back up, raising the edge of his sword to the Nord's throat. But the son of Skyrim did not take this as his defeat, and instead continued charging into the Imperial, knocking them both to the ground. Their weapons clattered away, and the match turned into a brawl. First the Nord was on top, trying to bring his fists down on the Imperial like some angry troll. But his position was not secure, and all it took was a strong twist of the Imperial's hips and he was on top, delivering direct jabs to the Nords face.

As blood started to trickle from the Nord's nose, the Imperial stood, backing away from the Nord to let him rise. The Nord staggered to his feet, blood now steadily streaming down his nose, which Alyce could tell even from a distance was broken. Letting out one final war cry, the Nord charged, his hands outstretched, ready to grab the Imperial and rip him apart. All it took was a simple side step for the Imperial to move out of the way, before grabbing the Nord by the back of his trousers and hair and giving him the final shove needed to send the man crashing into one of the weapon racks.

Swords, axes and daggers rang as they clattered across the ground, many of them cutting the Nord, who groaned in pain as he tried to pick himself up from the ground, his blood slowly pooling on the cold stone floor. Many of the other onlookers chuckled and murmured amongst each other, noting the Nord's magnificent collection of cuts that now decorated his body. The Imperial simply shook his head, walking over to another weapon rack, hanging the sword by it's cross guard.

'Useless,' he said, his Colovian accent standing out above the murmurs. 'You need to focus Hargnier, don't go throwing yourself around like some wild beast.'

Hargnier spat out the blood from his broken nose that had trickled into his mouth. "Clearly you've never fought a real Nord," he murmured.

'I've _killed_ many Nords, Hargnier,' the Imperial said as he strode back and pulled the Nord to his feet. 'And the "real" Nords don't fight like beasts, they fight like warriors, and a warrior does not throw his life away so recklessly, even if he is an assassin.' He turned back to on lookers, whose smirking and chuckles stopped as his gaze passed over them. 'None of you are any better. The blessings of the dread father are nothing if you do not master the skills needed to carry out his will, and master them you must. For you are assassins, the right arm of the Dark Brotherhood, never forget that honor.'

The apprentices saluted with a fist over their hearts. 'Yes, Silencer,' they spoke in unison, before forwarding out of the training room.

The Imperial turned back to Hargnier. 'See to those cuts, then return with a hammer and nails to fix this,' he said motioning to the broken weapon rack. Hargnier saluted reluctantly before making his way out of the room, giving a small bow to Alyce as he passed the Listener.

Alyce began making her way into the room, watching as the Imperial picked up a short rag from the corner, wiping some of Hargnier's blood from his face. The Listner smiled at him as he turned and noticed her.

'Listener,' he greeted with a nod of his head.

'Arren, how many times have told you to just call me Alyce? You've more right to call me by my name than any other.' she replied, brushing her hair from her face. 'The training is boding well I see.'

Arren scoffed. 'I might as well be training children,' he said as he pulled on a black shirt before pulling a red sleeveless tunic over it. 'They all think that driving a dagger into a man and being contacted by the Dark Brotherhood makes them assassins.'

'I seem to recall you had a similar attitude when you first joined the family,' Alyce said with a giggle, though Arren remained serious.

'I knew how to kill, I'd been doing it for years,' Arren replied as he approached her. 'I was confident in my abilities because I had put them to the test time and time again.' He stood in front of her now. 'I could not have been named your Silencer if I didn't have the experience to deserve that title.'

Alyce smiled, nodding at this. Arren Black-Arrow was if anything one of the deadliest assassins in the Brotherhood, his skill for stealth and combat far surpassing Alyce's. He had served as an Imperial Ranger, an elite agent of the Empire for most of his life until he left under circumstances he still had yet to reveal to Alyce. Since then he had rose through the ranks of the Brotherhood, striking his targets down from up close and from afar, his skill with a bow being unparalleled. Now served as Alyce's personal Silencer, an assassin in service to members of the Black Hand.

'Now, what brings you down here?' He asked. 'You know I'm not one for mild conversation.'

Alyce looked away from him, turning away and walking a few steps before stopping. She toyed with her fingers as she tried to gather the necessary words. 'The Night Mother spoke to me... about a contract,' she said.

'Of course she did,' Arren replied. 'I would be worried if you hand't heard anything from her.'

'This one is different,' she continued. 'She said that there will be someone waiting in the ruins of the Falkreath Sanctuary. That is what concerns me, anyone who knew its location is either dead, one of our contacts or is one of us.'

'The place was burning Alyce. It was sending a tower of smoke high enough that anyone for leagues around could have seen it.'

'Someone with the blood of dragons?' Alyce asked, and Arren fell silent. 'If it is who I think it is, then I fear for the Brotherhood. If it really is him then-'

'He's at the old Sanctuary you say?' Arren asked as he began storming out of the training room.

'Arren stop!' Alyce called after him, sprinting past him to stand in his way. 'You can't go there, not alone!'

'I'm going to kill him Alyce,' he said, anger darkening his face. 'I don't care what kind of power he's said to have, I don't care if he turned around the Stormcloaks at Whiterun. I will kill him!'

'I know your still angry, but we have to be wise about this!'

'Wise?!' Arren shouted, his voice echoing up the stairs into the sanctuary, where unbeknownst to him many assassins flinched at this voice. 'He deserves to die Alyce. He killed Thor! He cut him down right in front of me!' Alyce closed her eyes, shaking her head, trying to shake the memory away. 'Thor was my friend, my brother, he was your husband!'

'Don't you dare think that I need reminding of that!' Alyce shouted back, a single tear streaming down from one of her brown eyes. 'I know full well what happened. I was there. But we have to think about the Brotherhood now.' She strode back towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. 'The Brotherhood has already suffered because someone used the sacrament against us. Maro used Astrid to try and kill me, to kill all of us. _He_ could be doing the same. Do you understand?'

'Alyce I'm-'

'Do you understand?' she repeated, looking into his green eyes.

Arren mouth opened as if to protest further, but instead he sighed, allowing his anger to flow from him. 'I understand,' he said.

Alyce smiled at this, happy to have her silencer back on her side, before pulling him into an embrace. 'I miss him too Arren,' she said softly as she pressed her cheek into his chest. 'You're not the only one who lost a piece of themselves that day.'

Though he was far too proud to ever admit it, Arren felt just as much loss for Alyce's husband than she did. He would comply with her commands, as was expected of him. Though he would not forget, he could never forget the day that he helplessly watched as Darion Octavius drove his sword through a fellow assassin, smiling as he did so.

**_Hey guys, quick chapter here just to let you all know that I'm alive. My studies have really been drawing me away from writing at the moment however I'm approaching an eye in the storm where I can manage another chapter in a week or more. After that though I will be on holidays between the end of june and the entirety of July (Which I am incredibly excited about) so I will be able to get a few chapters up in that time as well. I would like to thank all those who have followed the story and left review, reviews of which, as I've stated in the past, are my source of inspiration. So leave a review, positive or negative, I don't care I believe in free speech, and I will see you all next time!_**

**_Kwaheri!_**


	9. Contract

**_Contract_**

* * *

'They're late,' Lydia said as she paced in circles before Darion, who sat on a rock, a half-eaten apple in his hand. 'I don't like it, assassins are supposed to be punctual, why are they so late?' The two of them sat, or Lydia's case paced, within the depths of a cavern within the middle of the forest. Though like most places in the world, there was more to it than meets the eye. Though door that had once guarded it lay broken and in pieces outside, one who had travelled the world or had at least sit down to hear a travellers tales would know that it was a Black Door, an enchanted door created to guard the entrances to the sanctuaries of the Dark Brotherhood. The two of them had resided within the sanctuary for two days after performing the black sacrament. They had mostly spent their time waiting in the sanctuary's main chamber, eating the food that they had brought along and drinking from the small pool that sat just to the side of the main path through the chamber.

In that time Darion had a chance to explore the remains of the Sanctuary, and come to see the carnage that had been wrought upon it. From what he had heard the Sanctuary was attacked, and the rumours had been that the Dark Brotherhood had been wiped out for good. Any yet barely a few months later many cases of unexplained and unprovoked murder sprang up across Skyrim. Though Darion truly had no idea whether anyone was listening when he performed the sacrament, he had a feeling that somewhere out there the Dark Brotherhood was lurking in the shadows, awaiting their next contract. Though they would be in a surprise when it came time for his.

'Will you calm down already?' Darion asked Lydia as he took another bite. 'Being the most feared and organised sect of cutthroats is sure to make them very busy. And if they don't show up we'll just perform the sacrament again and wait some more.'

'And what dead body will we use this time?' Lydia asked, stopping and turning to Darion. When they had first used the sacrament they had used one of the many bodies that had been left behind after the battle of Whiterun. They had done their best to disguise the fact that they travelled with a dead body, and twice they had to explain to passing merchants and sell-swords that the body was that of their fallen sibling, and that they were returning him home to be buried in Falkreath. No one would questioned a burial in Falkreath, the city was infamous for holding the largest graveyard in Skyrim. Though it wasn't the perfect cover, and Darion felt the eyes of suspicion upon them. Their travelling cloaks were enough to hide their identity, and the jagged forms of their armour beneath the cloaks were enough to drive away even the most curious of travellers.

'One that I'm sure will have no use to anyone else,' Darion said, his voice becoming slightly agitated, though Lydia ignored it. Ever since she had become a thane she had become much more forward about her disapproval of his actions. Admittedly he had been the one to suggest her appointment to Jarl Balgruuf, yet he did not expect his former Housecarl to be so candid and rude in her speech, at least as a Housecarl she respected him for the sake of tradition.

'Well that's at least comforting to-' Lydia's words fell short as the sound of crunching soil under boots approached them. The two looked up towards the entry way to see three figures, almost silhouetted in the darkness. Had they not made a noise, they would have gone by unnoticed. One of them, a man, wore the black and red armour associated with the Dark Brotherhood, another a set of matching coloured robes. The third however wore an attire like that of the Alik'r of Hammerfell and a scimitar at his hip. Though unlike traditional Hammerfell clothing, his robes were dyed red and dark brown, colours unlike the desert warriors Darion had met during his earliest days in Skyrim. It was only as they approached further that Darion noted that another figure walked beside the Redguard, almost hiding behind the man. At first glance she looked like a child, but even in the dim light of late evening Darion could see her sharp features and glowing eyes.

_Vampire,_ he thought to himself, turning and giving a nod to Lydia, who noticed it to. Darion knew it already to be true but now he knew it for certain. The Dark Brotherhood really did take in all types. As the figures approached, Darion's eyes locked with that of the one in the robes, a woman judging by their size. Her face was concealed under a crimson mask whilst her eyes remained hidden under the shadow of her hood. The other three figures remained behind as the robed one, made her way further.

It was only as she drew closer that Darion suddenly noticed just how short this rider was, a Breton if he had to guess. As she walked towards the two of them, Lydia's hand slowly went for her sword, but when Darion noticed the other assassins doing the same he raised his hand slightly, ordering her to calm herself. Though the robed figure was short in stature, and carried only a simple, though menacingly jagged dagger, Darion could tell nothing of what she was capable of. It was people like that that he was cautious of.

'Good evening,' Darion greeted politely nodding his head slightly to the woman, who stopped a few feet away from him. 'I'm glad you came, my friend here was starting to worry that you would come at all,' he said as he threw his apple into the pool.

'The Night Mother hears the calls of all who perform the sacrament,' she replied. 'Even those of Dragon's blood.'

'So you know who I am?' Darion asked, surprised that she was already aware of his identity.

'I knew it was you the moment the Night Mother spoke to me,' she continued. 'She was quite clear that a man with the blood of dragons was calling to us, though she could not elaborate further on why.'

'So I take it you are the Listener?' Darion asked. 'As legends go you are the only one in the world who may commune with the Unholy Matron. I must say, I imagined you to be a little… well… taller.'

A small giggle escaped the Listener, almost sounding childlike. 'Yes, I've been told that a lot. Though do not let my size fool you,' she continued. 'I could still kill you with ease.'

'I'd like to see you try,' Lydia said as her hand moved back to rest on the pommel of her sword.

The Listener only scoffed at woman's threats before turning her attention back to Darion. 'As much as I would love to banter with your Housecarl all day long Dragonborn, I would much like to know why you have called me and my brethren out here, this is not exactly one of my favourite places in Skyrim.'

'She's a Thane now actually,' Darion noted with a smile. 'And I knew that this place may not have been one of the most desirable of meeting places, but I believed that this certainly would have gotten your attention. As for your being here, well, to put it simply, I wish to make a contract with the Dark Brotherhood.'

'I had assumed this much,' the Listener said, 'though I did hold out some hope for the possibility you wished to simply make small talk over a picnic basket.'

'You're smarter than the average assassin then,' Lydia muttered under her breath, though she almost felt herself flinch as the eyes of the Listener glared at her before returning to Darion.

'What I offer you is no _simple _contract,' Darion continued. 'What I'm going to ask of you will not only be the most difficult assignment you've been given, it will also be the most beneficial.'

'We have already killed an Emperor, Dragonborn, if we you were to ask us to slay Emperor Trajan Mede, then we would just be begging for the Empire's attention.'

'I never said anything about killing anyone,' Darion said, as smirk appearing on his face. 'Not at the moment anyway.'

The Listener looked between Darion and Lydia, noting the Nord woman's own confusion at the Dragonborn's words. 'If you're not here to discuss a contract on someone's life, then I'm afraid our business is concluded,' she said as she turned to leave.

'You're not even the least bit curious about what I actually want from you?' Darion asked. 'Don't you want to know why the Dragonborn, a mortal with the blood and soul of a dragon, wanted to meet with the Dark Brotherhood?' He continued to smirk as the Listener stopped, turning back to him, her curiosity clearly getting the better of her. 'What I want from you, and from your brothers and sisters, is your loyalty.'

His words hung in the air for a moment, before the sound of the Listener's laughter, and that of her associates began to fill the clearing. 'You must be joking,' the Listener asked. 'The Dark Brotherhood is loyal only to itself, the Night Mother and Sithis. We will not submit or bend the knee to someone just because he can breathe fire.'

'I do not ask you to bend the knee,' Darion continued. 'I merely desire that the Dark Brotherhood remain my allies. I have plans you see,' he said as he strode towards the Listener, ignoring the hands of the other assassins that darted for their weapons. 'Plans that involve all of Tamriel. Fight with me, kill for me, and I promise you that I will ensure that the Dark Brotherhood lasts for another thousand years.' He said as he stood directly in front of her now, looking down her. He could now see her simple yet beautiful brown eyes.

The Listener held her ground as the Dragonborn approached, never backing down even as she was forced to look up at him, the murder in her eyes was truly present now. 'And if we refuse?' she asked.

'Then I will leave the Brotherhood in peace, no hard feelings.' He said simply. 'I would still call on you for your services when they are required.'

'And if we were to work against you? If we were to make an attempt on your life? Something tells me you would not let us go unpunished,' she stated.

'As I said, there would be no hard feelings,' Darion continued, his unbearably calm smile remaining. 'In the end your Brotherhood runs a business. Your work, for the most part as I'm lead to believe, is nothing personal. If you were to send an assassin after me I would feel no ill will towards you or your _family_.'

The Listener tilted her head at him slightly. 'You're that confident in your abilities?' she asked. 'You're certain that if an assassin was sent after you, you would be able to survive?'

'I'm merely speaking of hypotheticals, Listener. I honestly have no notion of what would happen if a member of your family were to try and take my life.' He went silent, and with him all who stood in the ruined sanctuary.

'You're a brave man, Darion Octavias,' the Listener said. 'Coming into the ruins of my family's sanctuary, offending my order and despite your transgressions you would still offer us coin like a group of lowly cut throats one hires in an alleyway.'

'Forgive me Listener,' Darion spoke, 'but how have I offended you?'

'We are not the crass fools who murdered Vitoria Vici at her own wedding, with an arrow piercing her heart,' she said as she took a step towards him forcing Darion to move back. 'We are not the hired killers who brought down the Empire's elite agents. I am not the same woman, a Breton girl with nothing to her name, who struck down Emperor Titus Mede the second. We are not the same Dark Brotherhood that were but a whisper and a fairy tale for many years. We are very real, and when we receive a contract, it is fulfilled.' She stopped after having caused Darion to retreat a few feet. 'I could have you killed right now in front of me, and I wouldn't even have to blink.'

Darion's smile was still there, though he truly did find this amusing. 'Your order is nothing to scoff at, and I meant you no disrespect. However,' he paused for a moment. 'I doubt you're capable of that.'

Even though she wore a mask, Darion could tell that the Listener was now smiling too. 'I never said I would be the one to kill you. It doesn't matter who strikes you down, regardless, you're outnumbered. The power of your voice is well known, but take away the thu'um and you're no more mortal than the rest of us.'

'You have two extra pairs of hands with you and a vampire,' Darion noted, his anger starting to rise at the mention of his mortality. 'Somehow I doubt even that is enough to stop me.'

'I was not referring to them,' was all she said before the sounds of a bow string tightening to Darion's left met his ears.

He stepped forward, hand reaching to his sword that was sheathed on his back but he was too late. He felt the cool point of an arrow head against his temple. He dared not move his head to look, and it was only out of the corner of his eyes that he saw a figure emerge from what he assumed was an invisibility spell. They were at least as tall as he was, garbed in a dark green hood and cloak, a black mask obscuring the lower half of his face.

'Don't take another step,' the cloaked man said as he stepped around to stand beside the Listener, his bow still aimed directly at Darion's head. As his eyes followed the assassin, he was able to note that he and Lydia were truly outnumbered. Dozens of masked men and women surrounded them, as if they had appeared out of nowhere. The stairs leading further into the sanctuary were lined with assassins, each of them wearing the black and red armour that were known to be an omen of death. From out of the pool that Darion had thrown his apple into in mere minutes ago came four Argonians, snarling at him, each of them armed literally to the teeth. One of them took a bite of his apple. From behind pillars stepped more assassins wielding bows, all of them aimed at the Dragonborn. Dozens more assassins ran into the Sanctuary through the corridor that lead to the main entrance, each one either aiming bows at him or drawing their weapons and forming a circle around him, completely surrounding him. Lydia was roughly forced to her knees by a pair of Orcs, one of them tearing her sword away from her. She tried to push them off but the grips of the pariah-folk were like a pair of vices, their strength challenging a giants.

For the first time in a long time, Darion was afraid of mortals. He had been taken by surprise, a weakness that he himself had exploited on many occasions, but it was not often that someone caught him off guard, especially to this degree. Though he and Lydia had been surrounded by bandits and thugs many times, none were this unified, this disciplined or this capable. He and Lydia had been waiting in the sanctuary for two days since they performed the sacrament, and yet it seemed as if the assassins had been laying in wait for months. Not since the headsman's block in Helgen had his death felt so close, so close that it could fall upon him with the mere nod of someone's head.

'So, Dragonborn,' the Listener spoke again, her smile ever present. 'Do you now have a notion as to what would happen if a member of my family were to be ordered to take your life?'

Darion's blood within him boiled at her words. The dragon within him laughed at the thought of tearing the woman's lips from her face, of pulling her teeth out one by one with his bare hands before letting her burn alive. Despite having the blood and soul of a dragon, he was still a mortal man, and it was that mortality, the fragility of his human body, that had stayed his hand many a time. Instead of acting on his anger, all he could do was breathe a sigh of defeat, and smile.

'Truly,' he said, 'you have proven the strength and ability of your family. Strength and ability that I would greatly appreciate to have on my side, if you were so willing to listen to what I have to say.'

The Listener giggled to herself, happy that she had gotten her point across, before raising a hand to order the assassins to lower their weapons, which they complied to. Though none of them put their weapons away either. The archer who stood beside Darion lowered his bow, but he kept an arrow at the ready, not taking any chances.

'I'm listening,' the Listener said.

Darion looked around at the hundreds of eyes that stared at him from beneath hoods and behind masks. 'I was hoping we could discuss this in private. Not that I don't trust your family but I would prefer to discuss the business side of things with you.'

The Listener shrugged her shoulders, before walking past him and up the stairs that went further into the sanctuary. The assassins parted for her, each bowing their heads slightly as she passed, though none took their eyes off the Dragonborn who began following after her, the archer following close behind, Darion could hear the tension on his bow string even then. This one wanted his blood. As the three of them exited the central chamber of the sanctuary, Darion cast a look at Lydia, whose eyes burned with anger yet also with worry. He gave her a smile and a nod to assure her before disappearing into the depths of what remained of the crypt like sanctuary.

The Listener propped her feet up on the desk, the furniture creaking a groaning under the weight. Though most of the sanctuary had been destroyed and burned, miraculously the desk, as well as two chairs survived. Though Darion had his suspicions that somehow the brotherhood had moved them into the sanctuary for the specific purpose of negotiations, especially since there was a jug and two cups on the desk, and the smell of freshly opened wine was present.

'Please sit,' the Listener motioned to the other chairs as she reached up to take one of the cups and the jug from the desk before pouring. She handed the first cup to Darion, who took it happily, before she reached back to the second and poured herself a cup. 'Did you want any, Silencer?' she asked, and Darion turned to see that the archer was still with them, leaning against the wall, his bow slung over his shoulder and his hand on the pommel of his sword.

'No,' he said simply.

'I believe that I asked for us to negotiate in private.' Darion noted.

'We are in private. You did not specify as to who you would discuss it with.' She said as she took a sip from her cup. 'I trust my Silencer with my life, and it is he who much of the family look up to. If you can convince him of your plans, then I guarantee I will be much more inclined to begin discussing terms.'

Darion nodded. 'Very well,' he said as he took a drink from his own cup.

'Now Dragonborn, let us get down to business. What is it that you want from us, specifically?'

'As I stated before, Listener, I wish to purchase the services as well as the loyalty of the Dark Brotherhood. You will be paid handsome fee on a basis we will discuss, as well as extra for any _special _targets I assign you.'

'So, what? You would simply pay us on a basis to leave you alone?' She giggled to herself again. 'Forgive me Dragonborn if I find that rather odd.'

'Oh you would not just be refusing to kill me,' he said as he took another sip of wine. 'I would have you act as my spies and agents throughout Skyrim, and beyond if particular circumstances bear fruit.' He smiled as he looked down into his cup. 'This is good wine, may it not be said that the Dark Brotherhood appreciates nothing but death.'

'What kind of circumstances do you speak of?' the Silencer asked. 'And if you want spies, go and pay off the beggars and guards, some of the greatest spies you'll ever have.'

Darion sighed, standing from his seat to pace around the room. 'If I wanted people who could simply keep their ears open I would not have called you here.' He turned back to the archer. 'I need people like you, Silencer. I need agents who are capable of appearing out of thin air, and are just as quick when it comes to disappearing. I need agents who are loyal, ones who will not betray me just because someone offers them a slightly heavier coin purse.' He strode towards the archer, who silently watched him approach. 'If there is one thing I know for certain about the Dark Brotherhood, it's that despite being a group of well organised murderers, you have honour. You do not kill in excess, you kill only those you were assigned to kill, anything else, from what I believe, is a last resort.'

'What would you know of honour?' The Silencer asked. 'You, who abandoned a city you swore to protect to go running around Solstheim looking for an enemy who may not have even existed to begin with.'

Darion's eyes darkened at that and locked with those of the assassin, though the Silencer did not back down. He knew, this mere archer knew something that not even Lydia was privy to knowing. This either proved they Dark Brotherhood would make amazing spies, and that they had had their eye on him even then.

'Do not speak on things you know nothing about,' Darion said calmly, though anyone could tell it was a threat.

'You didn't answer my question,' The Silencer continued. 'What circumstances do you speak of?' The two continued to glare at one another, the tension in the air was almost unbearable. Soon however Darion smirked, and turned from the Silencer, looking back to the Listener, who still had her feet propped up on the desk.

'I intend to rule Tamriel,' he said calmly. 'If I were to conquer it the same way that the honourable Tiber Septim did I would be an old man by the time the continent was under my banner. Which is why I need the Dark Brotherhood.'

The Listener watched the Dragonborn as he stood there, openly admitting his plans for conquest. It was as he stood there that she saw a fire in his eyes, the kind of which she had only seen once before. It had been on a contract, well before the fall of the Falkreath sanctuary, before she became the Listener. A mere merchant, out on the western plains of Whiterun, who had performed the sacrament. Their desire was to see the death of the one who had burned his family and livelihood to ash. He had not given them a name, only a location, and said that their target would be hard to miss. It had just been her Silencer, her husband, and herself. For a brief moment during that encounter she had a rare chance to stare into the Dragon's eyes, and see the unbridled power and unquenchable thirst for power that dwelled within it. She saw that fire burning now within Darion's eyes, a look she had hoped never to see again.

'What would you have us do,' she asked, causing Darion to smile whilst the Silencer stared at his Listener in surprise.

'Kill those I wish to die, learn what I wish to know, and do not bear a single blade against me. Do this for me until I take my place as the undisputed ruler of the continent, and I will ensure that the Dark Brotherhood will always have a place in the history of Tamriel.'

The Listener fell silent, she looked into her cup, as if to find her answer there, possibilities and opportunities flooding her mind. The possibility to improve business, and at the same time continue to strike fear into the hearts of men, elves and beasts. Darion noted her pondering with a smile before turning back to the Silencer.

'And what do you think of this, Silencer?' he asked. 'Would _you_ kill in my name? Would you help me build a new Tamriel?'

The Silencer looked between the Dragonborn and to the Listener, who still sat there in thought, before looking to the Dragonborn once again. There was so many ways he could strike at him now, armed or otherwise. He could attack his pressure points, rendering him immobilised. He could break his legs by delivering a kick to the knees forcing him to the ground. From there he could break his neck, his jaw, pull out his tongue or slit his throat. Any of those methods could render his thu'um useless. From there it would be a simple matter of exacting his revenge. The Dragonborn did not know it, but he was looking death right in the eye, though even death would not act without orders from his Listener.

As the Silencer remained quiet, the Listener stood from her seat, her eyes meeting those of the Dragonborn. 'If I were to agree to this,' she said. 'I would need to have some form of contract, with a list of conditions that we may negotiate.'

'Listener,' the Silencer spoke, stepping past the Dragonborn to stand by her. 'Are you sure this is what your desire? You do not wish to-'

'There will come a day for that,' she cut off. 'For now we must look away from the past and look to the future of our Brotherhood. I believe this to be the right course of action to ensure our existence.'

The Silencer started at her a moment before sighing and nodding. 'By your word, Listener.' He moved past her to stand behind her, keeping his eye on the Dragonborn, who was grinning.

'I have such a thing,' he said, reaching into his armour before pulling out a small scroll bound by a red ribbon and handing it to the Listener. She took it in hand, opening it before her hidden eyes began darting across its pages. Darion watched with satisfaction as her mouth fell open slightly at the words that were inscribed on the scroll. He also watched as the Silencer leaned in to read the scroll himself, at which he had to suppress a chuckle. The Listener looked up at the Dragonborn, her mouth still open after having read the terms of their deal.

'You have that much coin to your name?' She asked.

'Not as of yet,' he replied. 'Though very soon. Worry not Listener, you will be paid generously for your contribution to by rule.'

The Listener tried to speak yet nothing came out. The terms of the contract… they had been far more liberal than she had expected. Though the brotherhood were not permitted to take jobs that could undermine the Dragonborn's efforts, they would be permitted to take on the usual contracts that were sent their way. And the amount that the Dragonborn offered was, true to his word, quite generous.

'You say you do not have this coin,' the Silencer said. 'Yet you would call upon us all the same?'

'I am currently working on that,' Darion responded. 'By the time I call you I will have-'

'So you have no gold,' the Silencer cut him off, 'no army, no allies, no siege weapons, no supplies and no encampment to call your own?' The assassins shook his head and turned back to the Listener. 'I know how war works, this fool does not. He thinks only that because he is Dragonborn he will have everything he needs. We are wasting our time here.'

'I will have all the gold I require in a month,' Darion said, catching the attention of both assassins again. 'At least enough to begin my plans. Though for now want I wish for the Dark Brotherhood to do now is to wait patiently for my word.' He reached into his armour once more, pulling out a small piece of folded parchment. 'This however is quite a simple contract. Merely fulfil it by the date and time I have written, and you shall be paid a reasonable fee.'

The Listener took this second parchment, unfolded it and read. This time it was only confusion that crossed her face as she looked back up to the Dragonborn. 'You would have us do this…this simple knife-work?' she asked. 'He is barely anyone of significance, let alone worth this much gold.'

'It matters not who I want you to kill,' Darion replied. 'What matters is that you kill him, and if possible, leave no trace it was you.'

The Silencer's eyes darkened at that. Already the Dragonborn sounded as if he was giving orders to the Brotherhood. Though it felt as if Sithis himself was urging him to lash out, he remained in check, waiting for this Listener's urging only. The Listener on the other hand simply smiled, stepping towards Darion.

'As anxious as I am about what the future may hold for us should we go down this path,' she said. 'I also find myself excited as to what would happen should we play this game of plots and intrigue of yours.' She then did what none had expected. She reached up, pulled down her mask and pulled back her hood, her crimson hair falling down her back. The Silencer's eyes widened in shock at this, whilst the Dragonborn was pleasantly surprised, now he had a chance to see the true Listener for himself. 'If we are to play this game, we might as well introduce the players, don't you think? She asked with a giggle, before extending a hand to Darion. 'I am Alyce Lachance, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood. I look forward to playing with you,' she said with a smirk.

Darion smiled, taking the woman's hand and raising it to his lips. 'Charmed,' he said before planting a soft kiss on it, taking pleasure in how the Silencer glared at him. He lowered her hand before looking back to the Silencer. 'Am I not to know your face as well, friend?' he asked.

The Silencer continued only to glare at him, before looking to Alyce as if for confirmation. She gave him a slight nod. He was hesitant, reluctant even, at first. All the same he reached up and removed his hood and pulled down his mask, revealing an Imperial man, almost of the same age as Darion, if not a few years his senior.

'Arren Black-Arrow,' he greeted. 'And I am not your friend.'

'Well that wasn't so bad, was it?' Darion asked as he took a sip from his cup before placing it back down on the table. He sat across from Lydia now, at a table that resided in the back corner of one of the inns in Falkreath. The place, despite the overall mood of the town, was filled with drunken laughter and cheering, as one man chugged an almost an entire barrels worth of mead. 'I trust those common ruffians weren't too hard on you, _Thane _Lydia?'

'I still don't see why we need them,' Lydia asked she poked at her own cup. 'We need soldiers, true warriors, they are what will win you the throne, not those cutthroats.'

'Contrary to what most Nords thinks, wars are hardly ever won on a muddy field alone. The shadows are but another battlefield where men combat one another in their mad scramble for power. If I were to besiege a castle for instance, let's say the commander of it refused to surrender, but I have learned that his second in command is more than willing to accept my terms.' He reached into his pockets, pulling out a single gold coin. 'I would rather pay someone like that Silencer a small fortune to kill the castle's commander than send hundreds of my men to their deaths.'

'It's dishonourable,' Lydia retorted. 'A true battle should be fought between to men on equal ground. Anything less and it would be an insult to the warrior class.'

'That may be so Lydia, but in the game that I intend to play you cannot hope to win by following the rules,' he said as he took another sip of his wine.

'I understand Darion, I just don't like it is all. I suppose I'm just glad we're done with these thieves and assassins,' she replied as she took a large swig of her own drink.

'I wouldn't get too excited if I were you,' Darion said with a smirk. 'We've only dealt with the assassins.'

Lydia scoffed slightly before realising exactly what he had said. 'Darion, don't tell me-'

'Okay, I won't,' he chuckled as a young woman approached their table, their food in hand. Darion pulled out more coins, counting them out in his hand for the woman to see before handing them over to her. The woman nodded with a smile before walking away. It was only when she was out of site that Darion held up a single coin between his fingers, one that Lydia had been sure she had seen being handed over to the woman. Lydia was about to protest when Darion beat her too it. 'The Dark Brotherhood will be a weapon, ready to strike down those who oppose me. Though some weapons don't have to kill.' He picked up his cup once more. 'It's a dishonourable thing, I know Lydia, but if I want to win this game, I want to make sure that when it comes to playing in the shadows, I hold all the cards.'

* * *

**_Finally! I've been waiting for ages to get this one out, though I feel as if I may have rushed it slightly in order to get it out tonight since I'm fed up with simply staring me in the face screaming 'FINISH ME!' But hey, it's done, and I'm happy to finally move onto the next part. As Darion said, assassins aren't the only ones who work in the shadows. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, leave a review, positive I care not, and I will see you all in the next chapter._**

**_Au revoir !_**


	10. Footpad

Runa gasped as her feet came out from under her, slipping on the shingled rooftops as rain came pelting down on top of her. She threw her hand out, barley grabbing hold of the roof, her nails feeling as if they would tear from her fingertips as they held her weight. With a grunt that bordered on a scream she began to pull herself up, her feet flailing about for some foothold to take advantage of. Her boots were only made from simple furs, and were nowhere near enough to get a grip on anything. The rest of her attire, including her hood, were made from similar material, and did little to keep the rain out, causing most of her body to go numb, which did not help her grip on the roof.

Lighting exploded over head, and it was only for the briefest of moments that she saw three shadows cast across the rooftop. She looked up, and true enough there they were. Three silhouettes, each a figure of almost pure darkness. Runa reacted on instinct, letting go of the roof and sliding off it into the streets below. Her feet struck the cobblestone first, and a wave of pain radiated from her feet to her waist. The angle of her fall from the rooftop combined with the pain in her feet and the wetness of the cobblestone sent her sprawling to the ground.

Though her fall was enough to hinder most men, Runa picked herself up almost as quickly as she had fallen, before scurrying off down the streets once more. Thunder roared over head once more, and Runa risked a glance quick glance behind her to check on the location of her pursuers. The chill of fear gripped her heart, and for a moment she thought she might have screamed. Two of the three silhouettes were following her still from the rooftops above. She ducked in and out of alleyways, and yet it always seemed like they were right on top of her. She looked ahead of her, there glowed a light in the darkness and rain. The doors to the temple of Mara glowed from the warm light within. As much as she hated to admit it, the temple was one of the safest places in the city when it came to shadows like her pursuers.

She gave all she had into running for the temple, through the wide open space of the Riften streets. At this point it didn't matter if anyone saw her. She had reached the doors, almost hearing the prayers of the priests inside. Her hand reach for the door, to push it open and in doing so granting her safety. But all she heard was the solid thud of metal striking wood, and she looked to her hand to see that her sleeve was nailed to the door, a bolt of dwarven make pinning her to the wooden door. She reached for it, almost screaming in frustration as she failed to remove it from the door, she couldn't even pull her sleeve free of it.

'You might as well give up Runa,' a woman's voice said from behind her. 'You've failed.' Runa turned behind her, and was met with the sight of two of her pursuers. Even with their hoods hiding their faces Runa could tell it was Vex and Delvin, both of them had their arms crossed, and neither one looked impressed. Runa sighed and pulled back her own hood, her blond hair falling down her back, quickly becoming soaked in the rain. She was a young, beautiful Nord girl, barley older than sixteen thought short for her age. Her blue eyes looked over the two of them before scanning the nearby rooftops. It was only then she saw where the bolt came from.

The third pursuer stood on the rooftop, a crossbow in their hands. Even in the darkness and rain of the night Runa could tell that this ones armour was nothing like that of Vex or Delvin. Theirs was like it had been woven from the darkness itself, a short black cape hung from their shoulders, almost as black as the night. The figure slung the weapon over their shoulder standing there for barely a moment more before disappearing before her eyes.

'Come on kid,' Delvin said as he walked up and yanked the bolt out of the door. 'Let's get you inside before you freeze to death.'

Most of the guild were gathered in the cistern by the time the three of them returned. They either sat by the water on the cisterns edge, sat at tables with a plate of food and a mug next to them, or they leaned against the walls watching as the two senior thieves lead the young footpad into the centre of the Cistern. There Delvin moved to stand in front of her, a small space between them. The two had removed their hoods, their eyes cast upon the young Nord girl.

Runa knew for certain that she had failed. The chase had been a part of her initiation. She had already gone through the other trials that the Guilds had thrown at her. She had stolen a priceless ring from a member of the Jarl's council, picked her way through every lock in the guilds training room, and had remained hidden for hours within the shadowed alleys of Riften as other footpads were tasked with finding her. Her final test had been based on a scenario where she would not be able to hide, where she needed to make her way from the city docks, through the city and into the temple of Mara to place a single gold coin in their charity box. It was an odd practise for certain, but one that the new Guild Master encouraged.

And yet despite being one of the best initiates the guild had received, she could not succeed. Her dreams of being one with the guild were dashed. She would be nothing more than another gutter rat, left to die after being tossed out of Honour Hall. Her thoughts were interrupted with a sigh, and she looked up to see the third pursuer once more, standing between Delvin and Vex in their armour made from the purest of shadows. Now that they stood before Runa, she could tell by their figure that they were in fact a woman, their form fitting to their slim body. A mask and hood covered their face, the only trace that she was even human was the fingerless gloves she wore, allowing Runa to see a set of soft, young human fingers.

The shadow clad woman shook her head. 'Well Runa,' they said. 'You failed to reach the temple, you failed to place your coin into Mara's charity box. If this had been a real job, you would have either been arrested or killed.'

'I understand,' Runa said, knowing that she spoke out of term as she stared at the ground in shame. 'I failed, I don't need to be told that.' The young Nord could barely keep the tears from running down her cheek.

'You sure did,' the woman said, almost laughing, causing Runa to sob slightly. 'But I have to say, you did an amazing job.' Runa's tears stopped for a moment, and looked up to the woman, who stepped towards her. Runa could not even see the woman's eyes through the hood and mask, it was as if she were staring into the void itself. 'You were placed up against two of the Guilds most senior members, and _me_. You reached the door of the temple. Another few seconds and you would have been the first to succeed.' Her hands reach up, pulling down her mask and pulling back her hood.

That was the first time Runa saw the Guild Master's face. She was a young and beautiful Imperial woman, little more than a few years older than her. Her long oak brown hair falling as far down as her chest, her soft green eyes looking into the young Nords. 'You're young, but I have not seen someone with such natural talent come to us in a long time, Runa Fair-Shield.' To her side approached Tonilla, a Redguard thief who held a small bundle in her arms. The Guild Master took the bundle from Tonilla, who smiled at Runa before departing. Runa looked down into the Guild Master's hands to se that the bundle was in fact a set of armour worn specifically by the guild, a pair of boots and gauntlets rested on top of it. 'This is the same set of armour I wore when I joined the guild,' the Guild Master said as she held the bundle in her hands. 'If you're truly ready to accept this life as your own, it's yours.' She said as she held it out for Runa.

Slowly, Runa's hands reached out to take the armour from her, her eyes wide with amazement and shock, yet still tears lingered there. As she held the armour in her hands, she looked up into the Guild Master's eyes once more.

'Welcome to the Thieves Guild Runa,' she said, and young Nord could not help but throw her arms around the woman, her tears steadily flowing from her eyes now.

The Cistern suddenly came alive with cheers and shouts, and Runa could not help sob openly and loudly as she was welcomed by her new family. Even Vex could not help but wipe a stray tear from her eye, an action that Delvin noticed, but chose to simply smile and keep quiet about it.

'Thank you Guild Master,' Runa said as she pulled herself away from the embrace. 'You have no idea what this means to me.'

The woman simply smiled, placing a hand on their newest member's shoulder. 'Call me Artemis,'

The celebration would continue into the night, and the cheers would grow louder as Runa appeared from a changing room in her new armour, fitting her perfectly. Though many of the other thieves would encourage her to have a drink, Vex kept the young girl away from such things, and threatened any of the men who so much as looked at girl in a way that displeased her. Ever since Runa had shown up in the _Ragged Flagon_, Vex had had a soft spot for the child, taking her under her wing and becoming her personal mentor. Now that she was a fully fledged thief, Runa would receive jobs just like the rest of the Guild, though many knew that Vex would watch her protégé from the shadows for the first few, just to be safe.

As the laughter and drinking continued in the cistern, Artemis sighed, propping her crossbow against the wall before walking over to the seat behind the guildmaster's desk and practically falling into it. With the extra wealth coming in with the rise of the Guild, Artemis had taken the time to invest in a newer larger chair made from snow bear furs and stuffed with some fuzzy material that had been too soft and comfortable for Artemis to even care where it came from. The design had come from Highrock, supposedly made by the finest craftsmen. Though money was said to make people very particular when it came to the finer things in life, all Artemis had cared about were the fact that it was comfortable enough for her to sleep in, and that it possessed a design that very few chairs in Tamriel had. It could spin.

She smiled to herself as she grabbed onto the desk before launching herself to the side, the chair spinning with her. She grinned like a child as she looked up to see the ceiling spinning above her. It was true that money could buy jewellery and clothes and large houses, but sometimes it was the simple things in life, like being able to watch the world around you spin, that made money something worth having. As her gaze lowered she noted a figure walking towards her desk though due to her spinning she hadn't the slightest clue who it was. It seemed as if the moment the person came into view, they were gone the next, replaced by the blurring walls and shelves that passed her over and over again.

'Having fun their lass?' they asked, and Artemis knew who it was in an instant.

'You should try it sometime Brynie,' Artemis said as she continued to spin, barely able to tell that the ginger Nord crossed his arms as he watched his Guild Master spinning like a fool.

'I'm more likely to lose my lunch than enjoy myself on your little contraption,' he said. 'Besides, I wouldn't want to spoil your fun,' he added with a smile.

Artemis began to slow down, her grin beginning to widen as her vision returned to normal, though her head still felt woozy. 'Seriously, this thing is better than skooma, we should ship some of these to Elsweyer, we'd make a killing!'

Brynjolf merely shook his head at the notion of the cat-men of the south spinning on chairs all day, though he did make a note of it. Any profit was good profit in his books. He pushed the thought aside as Artemis came to a stop, her child like smile looking up at him now. He turned back to watch his brothers and sisters in crime dancing, drinking and laughing the night away.

'So I take it the girl exceeded your expectations?' he asked.

'If anything I'd say just set a new record,' Artemis replied fondly. 'Larceny is in her blood, I haven't seen someone with such talent before.'

'I have,' Brynjolf noted with a smile as he turned back and looked at his Guild Master.

'Well then,' Artemis said, 'perhaps I just inducted the next Guild Master, I best watch my back else I'll be overlapped by these youngsters.'

'Wait another couple of decades lass, then you can say that.'

Artemis could not help but giggle at that. 'So,' she spoke. 'What's going on?'

'You sure you're head is alright lass?' he asked. 'Wouldn't want you falling out of your chair like last time.'

'I'll just stay in my chair this time,' she said. 'Now fill me in. What little scheme is cooking in that little brain of yours?'

'No schemes boss, just passing on a message.' His hand going into his armour, before pulling out a long black arrow. 'Struck a wall nearly inches from my head. He sure likes keep his distance, doesn't he?' he asked.

Artemis groaned as she stood up from her chair. 'In more ways than one. You know the drill Bryn, you're in charge till I get back.' She began to walk from her desk, proceeding down a separate corridor and into her own chambers.

The room was grand combination of a bank's vault room and queen's royal chambers, with all the comforts of a monarch like a large four poster bed and a fireplace, as well as a small collection of miniature vaults and strongboxes, their contents known only by Artemis herself. Bookshelves lined the room, each one packed with rows of books with titles like, _"Advanced Lock Smithing." _and, _"Avoiding Traps for Fools." _A large table resided to the side, opened books scattered all over its surface along with various maps and outlines for buildings. As Artemis walked into the room she began to remove her Nightingale armour, peeling the leather like fabric down past her chest before wandering behind an ornate changing screen that she had stolen from a Thalmor Diplomat's manor. Brynjolf only managed to catch a glimpse of the girl's exposed back before she disappeared behind the screen.

'What shall I tell the Guild whilst you're gone?' he asked as he tilted his head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of his Guild Master between the gaps of the changing screen, though to no avail. He instead wandered towards the table with the maps and outlines, his eyes darting over what he could only guess were plans that Artemis had yet to share with the Guild.

'Tell them the usual, that I don't delve into their private affairs and they should do the same for me.' Her head and an exposed shoulder popped out from behind the screen briefly. 'Especially if they don't want to find themselves back on the street.'

'You're starting to rendezvous with him a little more often than normal boss,' Brynjolf noted as he shifted some of the papers around the desk, memorizing as many details as he could. 'Should we be concerned?'

'Only if you keep asking questions Bryn. That whole "finding yourself on the street" rule applies to you too.'

'It's just...' he paused a moment. 'The company he keeps. I don't hold any grudges for the lad, but anyone who hangs around with that kind of crowd is someone who I'd want to be cautious of. Especially when they're around you.'

'As I said before Bryn,' Artemis spoke as she stepped out from behind the screen, doing up the last straps on her black guild master armour. 'Keep out of it. I trust him, and that's all you should be concerned about.' She said as she wandered towards Brynjolf who turned towards her, holding a large piece of parchment by its top corners. Though to most it was just another outline of a large manor, it was something of a taboo amongst the Guild.

'And is _he _the one talking you into this?' Brynjolf asked, becoming deadly serious.

'_That_, is none of your concern at the moment Bryn.'

'Oh come off it will you lass? You know he's still got a vendetta against them, this could ruin us if given the chance.'

Artemis snatched the parchment from him, folding it back up and placing it back in her desk. 'As I said, none of your concern until I say otherwise.' It was her turn to become serious. 'His feelings towards them have nothing to do with my decision.'

'Nothing?' Brynjolf asked, nowhere near convinced.

A dark look crossed over Artemis' face, and Brynjolf felt a chill run down his spine as he looked into her eyes. 'None of your business,' she said simply. Before storming off past him. Before she left the room, she stopped and turned back to him. 'We're not as weak as we once were Bryn,' she said as he turned to face her. 'We're capable of making our own decisions now, with or without the Black-Briars.' She then turned back around and continued back out the way she came, leaving Brynjolf standing there, uncertain on the future of the guild. He looked back down at the parchment, the layout of the Black-Briar's manor in Riften, before exiting out after her.

_**Now I know for a fact that I rushed this one, and there are probably half a dozen or so spelling and grammar mistakes to prove it, but I just want to get this one out. Originally this chapter was going to be expanded much more, but with some gaps in the writing of the next scene i've decided to split this chapter into two parts. The next one will be uploaded soon, depending on whether or not I can get some uni assignments done, unless one of you guys wants to do them for me :P**_

_**Mostly I really wanted to post this one just to let you know that I am alive, and that I am still slowly but surely working on this. I want to thank each and every one of you who have reviewed and followed this story, you have no idea how much it means to me, and a huge thanks to some of you guys for messaging me about the story with some of your questions and comments, they are a massive inspiration boost that go a long way into writing this.**_

_**Either way I'll see you next time!**_

_**-xcaliber234**_

_**P.S a cookie to those who knew who Runa was the moment she popped up :)**_


	11. Ties of Blood

Artemis' fingers wrapped around the apple, enjoying the smoothness of its waxy skin against hers, refusing to take a bite of it as if to ruin the perfection of its form. She leant back against a stone wall, overlooking the marketplace of Solitude. Stands decorated the large courtyard, selling fruits and vegetables, tools and weapons and even such exotic items like spices and foreign alcohols shipped in by the East Empire Company. A year ago Artemis would have been walking in amongst the market and it's inhabitants, accompanied by a half a dozen other guild members, snatching coin purses or wares that were left unattended like the apple that Artemis now held in her hand. Over the past few years however, ever since she took control of the guild, business had prospered across Skyrim, especially in Solitude where the majority of goods and coin was. They had a good portion of the dock and warehouse workers in their pocket, as well as a few members of the administration who were more than willing to let a few crates go missing for a handsome bag of coin.

A bell sounded in the distance, it's twelve chimes signalling the midday. Artemis' smile grew and she threw she began to walk back into the crowded streets, throwing her apple into the lap of a nearby beggar who thanked her and shouted praises at her as she walked away. As she moved through the crowd, her crossbow receiving a few glances of curiosity, she quickly slipped into one of the many alleyways that wormed their way through the city. As she moved further into the shade and darkness of the side street the sounds and warmth of the city began to fade away, becoming little more than an echo in the back of Artemis' mind. After walking far enough into the alley where the light of the crowded city streets did not reach, she stood still for a moment closing her eyes and taking in all the sounds that reached her. The coughing of a nearby urchin, the tiny barks of feral pups in hiding, the caw of crows amongst the rooftops and the flapping of a cloaks as it descended from on high.

Artemis' eyes snapped open and leapt through the air, before landing into a roll, barely in time as her attacker landed with a thud where she had stood only seconds ago. She did not look back to look, looking back could mean death in most situations. Instead she ran, sprinting through the alley before bursting back out into the light and sounds of the streets. Though she stood back in the light she did not stop, her pace if anything quickened as she dodged bystanders left and right. Shouts, curses and even a few screams followed her. As she ran however, fear did not grip her heart, at least not in the normal sense. Many a beast in Skyrim could feel the thrill of the hunt, of stalking the prey, the excitement of the chase. There were very few who took delight in being chased, in the thrill of death nipping at their heels. A feeling that thieves felt often. A small cart full of cabbages rolled out in front of her, the owners eyes widening as he saw her approach. All he saw however was hooded figure running towards his cart, a smirk appearing from within the shadow of her hood. His eyes widened still as the hood performed a feat that he would have though impossible. He was made witness to the hood, running straight at his cart, and at the last moment spinning around to turn her back to it. With less than a few inches between the cart and her, she leapt over it, her back barely skimming the top of the cart as she flew over it. Artemis felt herself smiling mid air as her body flipped through the air on instinct. She landed on her feet facing the cabbage cart before spinning back around breaking into a run once more. She slid under rolled up carpets carried between two merchants, weaved between men and women, moving like a gust of wind through the trees of a forest. Every breath, every step, every thought were practised, practised and calculated to unbelievable efficiency. There once was a time where she would have crashed into half the marketplace whilst fleeing a guard. But she was not that girl anymore. She was like a snake, weaving and slithering her way through the crowd with pin point accuracy.

Her eyes snapped to the left, spotting an exit from the crowd, another alleyway, one of hundreds that all linked with each other like a maze within the darker side of the city. She dived and sidestepped the crowd before finally emerging from its thronged activity. As she stepped in the alleyway, she allowed herself to catch her breath as the shadows washed over her and as they did she felt herself becoming completely revitalised. She could hear them now, the whispers of the shadows, the whispers of her predecessors. Every Nightingale that had ever lived spoke to her now, offering advice, wisdom and encouragement. As she listened, she could hear the voice of a voice she knew all too well. It was Gallus, the former Guild Master that had been slain by Mercer Frey, a traitor to the guild. Though she had only "met" him once, she recognised his voice, and the message it carried.

**_'Behind you...' _**it spoke.

Without thinking, the Nightingale spun on her heel, drawing her crossbow as she spun, and pulled the trigger. The loud metallic _click _of her crossbow and the sound of the bolt flying through the air was something that Artemis was used to hearing, however this was either followed by a scream, the tearing of flesh or the sound of the bolt imbedding itself in stone or wood. Instead no sound followed, only a sigh of relief from Artemis as she saw her pursuer with her bolt in a gloved hand, inches from his head. They wore dark green hood and cloak, a mask pulled up over their face. Their armour was little more than a leather tunic over a beige shit, the only other pieces of armour being a pair of studded leather gauntlets and boots. Though the armour did not look like it could have stopped her bolt, it was clearly designed to ensure its wearer was fast enough to just as easily avoid or catch the bolt out of mid air.

'You're getting better,' they said examining the bolt in his hand. 'But your weapon is still far too predictable. Barely any resistance as it flies, and its path is easy to read.' He tossed the bolt back at Artemis who caught it with a smile.

'I'm getting closer every time,' she said as she replaced the bolt back in the quiver on her belt before hanging the crossbow back in its holster on her back. 'You on the other hand are getting slower. I was sure I lost you after the cabbage cart.'

'I had moved to the rooftops. A lesson I thought you had learned.' The cloaked man said as he stepped towards her. 'It's a lot easier to avoid crowds than run through them, and allows a better vantage on your prey.'

'I'm used to running from people that can barely run for more than a hundred yards, the crowds allow me to disappear quicker.'

'It won't always be some unfit guard chasing you. From what I've heard you've stepped up your game.' The man pulled back his hood and pulled down his mask, revealing a young Imperial man, his oak brown hair matching hers. 'The Brotherhood has received quite a few contracts on your life. If they can't have your blood through us they will turn to others, ones who could catch you, let alone keep up.'

Artemis shrugged, stepping towards him as well. 'I doubt it, I heard the last man who was tracking me ended up hanging from a tree.' Her arms reached out and wrapped around him, pulling him into an embrace. 'My big brother would never let them hurt me.' She said with a true smile, one of warmth and love.

Arren sighed, the only return of her embrace being a hand rising to her head, to tussle her hair. 'I won't always be there to protect you Artemis, someday I'll be gone, one way or another, and I won't be able to kill your enemies.'

Artemis groaned as she pulled out of the embrace to look at her brother. 'Not all my enemies need killing, Arren. There are other ways to ensure that some fools are silenced. One of the many services the guild provides. That aside though, let's get down to business, somehow I doubt this was a family visit.'

Arren nodded, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a small letter, the red wax seal upon its surface was broken. Arren always did have a tendency to read other peoples mail. 'Someone wants to meet you,' he said. 'I stole this from a courier who was sent to find you in Riften.'

'Please tell me you let the poor fool live,' Artemis asked as she took the letter from him.

'I made it look like a robbery on the road, even hired a couple of bandits to make it look real. We let the man run back to Falkreath.'

'And after that the usefulness of your hired help came to an end?'

'They won't be missed.' Arren added, smirking slightly, causing his sister to sigh. Arren's time as an Imperial Ranger may have ended, but his willingness to kill bandits had become a part of him. When Rangers were not sent on missions, they were expected to travel the Empire and enforce Imperial law where local governments may have been lacking. Bandits had been Arren's favourite prey as they not only acted against the law, but many of them also fought back. Arren may have been a proud Imperial man, but something about the way Rangers were trained made even the most civilised men and women turn into something more savage, more animal like.

Artemis unfolded the letter, reading it under her breath as she slowly walked away from her brother. At some point she stopped walking, and Arren could almost see the shock and surprise course through her body as she read the final parts of the letter, the part that pertained to the subject of payment. The young thief turned back to her brother.

'And this is all true? You've met him yourself?' she asked.

'After he approached us I had the feeling he would do the same with you. It is a clever strategy, recruiting the underworld for his own purposes. My only concern is the matter of finances. If what I've learned is true then he doesn't even own a tenth of the coin that he promises.' He stopped and frowned to himself for a moment. 'Alyce is too trusting I feel, she accepted without even delving into details about the financing.'

'You think maybe he's got it stashed away somewhere?' Artemis asked, the thought of a hidden fortune piquing her interest. 'And even if he does have the money, why in the name of Nocturnal would we help him?'

Arren was about to speak when another voice, a woman's voice, cut him off. 'Why should you help him indeed,' the voice said, and the siblings both drew their weapons, Arren his bow and Artemis her crossbow, both aiming them into the shadows.

'Who's there?' Arren called out, 'reveal yourself!'

From within the shadows of the alley they heard a scoff, followed by movement as a figure appeared from out of the gloom. She was barely shorter than Artemis, though their differences were more than obvious. Looking more like a commoner, she wore a plain white shirt, only slightly covered in dirt, a dark brown underbust corset which looked as if it were made of hardened leather, studded leather trousers and heeled leather boots. Her face was smooth and beautiful with the sharp features of her elvish heritage, easily noted by her longer and pointed ears, the mark of a wood-elf. The most striking of her features, and the last to be revealed as she stepped out of the shadows was her hair. It had been dyed to the beautiful pinkish-purple of lavender, and cut short so as that it was only long enough to fall just past her chin.

The elf cast her eyes to Arren, smiling at him. 'Tell me handsome,' she said, 'how is it we can never meet without you pointing something at me?'

She giggled to herself as the siblings lowered their weapons, Arren being a lot slower than his sister, and if it weren't for the lack of light in the alley, the light blush that painted his cheeks. would be all the more obvious. Artemis meanwhile almost dropped her crossbow as she ran to embrace the elf, both of them laughing happily as she did.

'It's been too long Rin,' the Nightingale said as she savoured the embrace, one that was returned more warmly than that which her brother had done.

'Any amount of time away from you is too long Arty,' Rin said warmly in an almost sisterly tone. The two parted and the elf walked towards Arren, who had not said a word or moved an inch. 'Handsome,' she greeted with a smile.

Rinari Rosen-Thorn, a Bosmer adventurer and treasure hunter whose love for discovery and danger was only matched by her wit and flirtatious attitude. She had known Artemis and Arren for a few years now, having met Artemis when she first arrived in Skyrim and meeting Arren within the depths of an old crypt. He had been hunting a target given to him by the Brotherhood whilst she was after an amulet that the target just happened to have. The two had since found themselves in a form of partnership whenever their paths crossed. Whilst Rin was rather fond of Arren's company and loved to tease him, Arren found himself increasingly annoyed at the elf's constant chatting, especially when it lead to her trying to get him to open up. Though he would never admit it, he did however like having her around

'What do you know of Darion Octavius, Rinari? ' the assassin replied bluntly, using the elf's lengthened name.

'I know that he's Dragonborn, and that means most of Skyrim is behind him should he decide that he wants to play king and conqueror.' Rin said, sighing as Arren started with business 'And we all know just how dangerous a unified army of Nords would be in the wrong hands.'

'What makes you so certain that he'd have Skyrim on his side?' Artemis asked. 'He sent Ulfric's army packing back to the east at Whiterun, and I'm willing to bet quite a few of those Nords are more than willing to hold one of their famous era enduring grudges.'

'Nords may be famous for grudges Arty,' Rin continued. 'But if there's one thing that can get Nords to stop fighting amongst themselves for a second it's the presence of a Dragonborn. Since he defeated Alduin, dragon attacks are at an all time low, and most folk thank him for that. If this Darion plays his hand right, he could very well make himself look like a reincarnated Tiber Septim.'

'If he even gets that far.' Arren scoffed.

Rin only smiled and shrugged. 'You'd be surprised what you can do when you have a skilled assassin on your side. Just imagine what he could do with the entire Brotherhood under his command.' She turned to Artemis. 'Add the thieves guild into the picture and his pockets will be as untouchable as he is.'

'That's assuming he gets the Thieves Guild on his side,' Arren continued as he turned to his sister. 'Which is why I made sure I got to you before he did. You're not going to take the deal, I don't want you involved with whatever the Dragonborn has planned, it's too dangerous.'

Artemis' eyes widened in surprise before it slowly transformed into a scowl. 'You don't decide what happens to the guild, I do. If this Octavius wants to talk over terms I don't see what the harm is in listening to him.'

'Except you're not going to,' Arren repeated, his voice rising slightly. 'He isn't Maven Black-Briar, he's not looking for money or to bribe his way into politics. If he gets what he wants he's going to wage war, people are going to die.'

Artemis laughed bitterly to herself at this. 'So he's _exactly _like Maven, only on a slightly grander scale.'

'I don't care what he is, I don't want you getting involved! It's too dangerous!'

'As dangerous as running a guild of thieves who make enemies of the Jarls and their courts? Face it, _brother_, I'm not a child anymore. I'm not the same girl who needed her big brother to flash his Ranger crest and throw a couple of coins at the city guard to make them forget about me stealing a few trinkets.' She stepped closer to him now, looking him in the eye. 'I'm the leader of some of the most successful and dangerous thieves in Tamriel. _My_ decisions decide where the gold flows in Skyrim, _I_ decide who is rich and who is poor. If I want to consider some new horizons for Guild, I need the advice of my Guild, not some Ranger turned Assassin who thinks he knows what's best for me.'

She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, allowing silence to settle over the three of them. Rin merely stared in silence at the two of them. Though both siblings seemed unfazed, Rin knew that both were angry enough that if it were not for their shared blood they would have struck out against the other. Thankfully this did not come to pass. The young thief then sighed before turning to Rin.

'It was nice seeing you again Rin, but I've got some business to take care of.'

Rin nodded, 'Just be careful Artemis,' she asked, almost sounding as if she were begging.

Artemis smiled briefly before throwing her hood back over her head. 'I always am.' She turned back to her brother. 'Farewell Arren,' she said simply before walking past him and back out into the streets, pulling her hood back up as she went.

Arren slowly exhaled letting his anger seep out with it, and for a moment Rin thought he would be fine. As always he surprised her when he threw one of his fists at the wall, cracking the brick and leaving a small crater on its surface.

'You'll break your hand if you keep doing that,' Rin said, though she did not thread humour within her words.

'She claims that she is a woman, yet she continues to act like a child,' Arren spat pulling his fist away from the wall. 'She thinks she knows how the world works, it's dangers but she has barely scratched the surface of the kind of dangers that wait for someone like her. She-' The assassin was cut off as he felt Rin's hand on his shoulder, and it was not until he turned to face her that he saw that she was smiling.

'Sometimes you just have to let people find things out for themselves,' she said, 'you have trust her to roll the dice and make do with what happens to her. It's like you were telling her before, someday you won't be there to look out for her.'

Arren frowned slightly. 'How long had you been listening?' he asked.

Rin just smirked and said 'Long enough. But you know it's true. She has to learn how to take care of herself, and the only way for her to do that is to face the world alone.' She stepped a little closer to him. 'Despite what you might think, your sister is a very capable young woman. There's a lot more to her than meets the eye.'

Arren sighed, his eyes cast to the ground before looking back to the elf, and he too could not help but smile. 'Reminds me of someone else.' The two of them shared a brief smile before turning away from one another, each hiding a frown from the other, a frown that served almost as a scar for a time that had long passed.

'So,' Rin began to ask, 'what're you going to do about Octavius? You told me once that you were going to kill him if you ever got the chance.'

'The opportunity will present itself in time,' Arren replied. 'For now I follow Alyce, and she says that we take our commands from the Dragonborn.'

* * *

Darion's cup gently tapped that of Artemis, as the two of them drank to their new partnership. The two of them sat across from each other on opposite sides of a small table. The two of them sat within the _Bee and Barb _inn, one of the more popular ones in Riften. The inn keepers, a friendly Argonian couple, had been more than happy to allow them to use one of their upstairs rooms as a meeting place. Whilst Lydia waited outside, the two Imperials had discussed the terms of the contract that Darion had outlined in his letter to her, and she had since signed it. The Dragonborn dressed in clothes that were of good quality, yet not that of nobles, wearing a black tunic with red trimming along with matching trousers and a pair of boots. Artemis however continued to wear her black Guild Armour, having received little more than a glance from the inns patrons as she entered. Whether it was fear or respect, Darion could not tell.

'I must admit Artemis,' Darion said as he placed his cup back on the table, 'When you told me that you were Arren's sister I had thought for a moment that you were going to slit my throat. I mean no offence to you of course.'

'None taken,' Artemis shrugged. 'My brother has that effect on people, and unfortunately his reputation has rubbed off on me. The few times that someone discovers my relation to him they seem to think that I've killed just as many people as he has.'

'And have you?' Darion asked with a smile.

'Nowhere near as many,' the young thief replied with that smile of hers. 'But Arren and I are family, and if that should tell you anything it is that neither of us will have a second thought about taking a life when we need to.'

'An admirable quality,' Darion noted. 'I must apologise once again for how late I was, I was meeting with another associate of mine.'

'How are The Knight-Brothers these days?' Artemis asked, trying to hide a smile as Darion almost choked on his drink.

After he had cleared his throat, Darion could not help but smile back at her.

'Your contacts are quick to inform you, I'm glad to have them on my side now.'

'The moment this meeting ends, our services are your disposal.' Artemis said with a smile. 'So how are they? Still running with the Dawnguard?' she asked.

'I wouldn't have spoken to him if it were otherwise,'

'I would have thought that if someone was trying to bring the Dawnguard into their sphere of influence they would have contacted their leader, Isran.'

'Isran is too narrow minded to be part of my plans, and he's far too stubborn to assist in them. Mordred however is just as experienced, intelligent, a natural leader and he's of noble birth. Whilst I'm not a great supporter of aristocracy, people have an instinctive drive to follow people who they believe were born better than them.'

'And was he as accepting of your offer as I am?' Artemis asked.

'As I said, Isran is far too narrow minded to look beyond Skyrim as the domain of the Dawnguard. Mordred understands the wider picture, he's more than willing to look beyond the borders of Skyrim if the Dawnguard are to succeed in their mission, even if it means aligning himself with me' The two of them shared a small chuckle. 'What of the rest of your guild? Are they as happy with accepting this deal as you are?'

'They will follow me,' Artemis said plainly, and silence settled between the two of them.

Darion sighed, rubbing his eyes before looking back at the young thief. 'You have not told them, have you Artemis?' he asked, but was met only with silence. The Dragonborn reached for the contract that sat on the table between them. 'This contract states that I will have the full cooperation of the Thieves Guild of Skyrim, am I to _assume_ you can control all of them to work with me.'

'They will follow me,' Artemis snapped, her anger looking for a split second like that of her assassin brother. The continued to sit in silence for a while before Artemis sighed, taking another drink from her cup. 'Things were different back in Cyrodiil,' she began, 'Arren and I grew up with our father telling us stories of the original Grey Fox, how his Thieves Guild protected the beggars and the poor in exchange for information and assistance. They were a guild that stole because they could do it, and many thieves gave their riches to the masses, helping the poor to rise out of the gutter, to help balance the scales between the rich and poor.' Her grip around her cup tightened, and Darion could see anger take its hold on her once more. 'But when I left Cyrodiil, when I came to Skyrim looking for the noble thieves, for the men and women from my fathers stories, all I found was disappointment. I found nothing more than hired thugs, slaving away under the Black-Briars. They stole from rich and the poor. Nobles and beggars alike were not safe from them, even if they were a shadow of what they once were.' Her eyes met with Darion's once more. 'I swear to you, the thieves guild of Skyrim will be ready to serve as you, so long as you keep up your end of the bargain.'

Darion smiled at that. 'Trust me, you're not the only one who wants Maven Black-Briar dead.'

**_Hey guys, just thought I'd get this second part up now, so yay, you get two chapters in two days, that hasn't happened since I posted the first couple of chapters, feels like ages ago now. Might take a while for the next one now, as I'm in the middle of writing a few assignments for Uni and have written absolutely for the next chapter, so it might take me a while. But rest assured, I know just what's going to happen, and I will ensure that those ideas get down on paper as fast as they can._**

**_Catch ya next time._**

**_-xcaliber234_**


	12. Talk of change

Erik's whetstone hissed as he dragged it along the edge of his katana, a single movement of his arm and the traditional Akaviri blade was made even more deadly than it had been. He did not know the details, but Erik had been told that the Akaviri forged their blades by folding the steel into layers, the structure of the blade becoming stronger, making a sword made of simple steel into a blade that was even lighter and stronger than that of elven make.

The young Nord leaned against one of the pillars that surrounded the training courtyard of Sky Haven Temple, the last bastion of the Blades. Though their numbers were nowhere near as they had been in the days of the Septim Dynasty, they were on the rise from their near extinction at the hands of the Aldmeri Dominion and their war with the Empire. Ever since the Oblivion Crisis, they had disconnected themselves from the Empire, abandoning their role as bodyguards to the Emperor as the Dragon blood of the Septims did not flow through the veins of the Mede family who would eventually take power. Now what little of them remained resided in Sky Haven Temple, acting in teh shadows, striking whenever fate could permit them. Ever since Delphine, the self appointed Grandmaster of the Blades, revived the order and fell back into the old tradition of hunting dragons, dozens had flocked from across Tamriel. Some were either members of the original blades like Delphine and Loremaster Esbern who had been in hiding for years, many more were the sons and daughters of the Blades that fell during the Great War. However, there were a few like Erik, a former mercenary from Rorickstead, who had been brought before Delphine by another.

After he had been given money for armour and a sword by an Imperial soldier who had passed through the village, Erik had left his life of farming and toil behind and struck out as a mercenary. Though most of the work he did was clearing wolves and skeevers out of the village and though it did not improve his reputation in the slightest, he was content. One day however he was approached by a young Imperial man, who hired him to escort him to Whiterun. The two of them had walked in conversation, with Erik trying his best to avoid detailing his more recent work, and yet the stranger took interest in him all the same.

It would be a while after that job that Erik would meet the stranger again, the next time the stranger did not come alone. He arrived once again in Rorickstead with a Nord woman, clad in castle forged armour. The stranger recognised him, and once more hired him for a job, this time he was looking for an extra hand to help the two of them to clear out a bandit camp. This would go on for a few months; the Imperial and his female companion would pass through the town, hire Erik, and then leave just as quickly as they had come. One day however, they came with a challenge. They had arrived with three others, another Nordic woman, much taller than the first, accompanied by a shorter and much scrawnier man dressed in noble clothes, and a wood elf with a bow slung over his back.

Once they had all found themselves a table in the inn, the Imperial revealed to them a map of Skyrim, with dozens of red marks all across the landscape, marks that the stranger informed him were burial mounds of ancient dragons. He pointed to one of them, just near where Rorickstead was on the map, and stated that there was a dragon somewhere in the hills surrounding the village and they were looking for help to slay it before it could do any damage. Erik had been confident at first, perhaps the presence of his best client was enough to make him agree to the job.

When they had finally found the dragon, Erik's confidence disappeared almost entirely. It's scales were as black as the night sky. He remembered looking between his client, his companion, and the other warriors he had gathered. The female companion's face was that of nervousness, but she did not let fear grip her as it did Erik. The Imperial's on the other hand was practically glowing with confidence, and if anything the smirk on his face almost terrified Erik as much as the dragon did. The other warriors stood in amazement rather than fear, though the tall Nordic woman told her lither friend to stay back and be ready to run.

The dragon had roared into the ground, or as Erik later learned it had shouted, and summoned forth the bones of a long dead dragon, whose skin and scales reappeared before Erik's eyes. It was only then that the black dragon took notice of them, speaking in some other tongue before flying off, leaving the newly revived dragon to deal with them. That had to be the fiercest that Erik ever fought. If he was not ducking for cover he was being tackled to the ground by either his client or his companion as they knocked him out of the way of the torrents of flames that came pouring from the dragon's maw.

It was during this fight that Erik saw something he had only heard rumours about, a man breathing fire, just like the dragons did. As often as he could, the Imperial shouted, just like the dragon did, using its own weapon against it. Fire, ice, even going as far as to summon a lighting storm, the Imperial was more than a match for the dragon. After a long and painful fight, the dragon finally fell, and skin and scales that had it had been given by the black dragon were just as quickly taken by the man that Erik truly knew in that moment as Dragonborn. The tall woman had practically bowed to him, whereas Erik and the others merely looked dumbfounded. As he commented on their abilities, he informed them of one more job that he had for them all.

Thus he had been lead to Sky Haven Temple, alongside Faendal, Mjoll and Aerin and presented before Delphine. Erik had been unsure at first when offered a place amongst the Blades, but as he stood before the Grandmaster, the others readily taking their oaths, he remembered the fear that he had felt as he saw a dragon for the first time. There were many children in his village, young and innocent. If he and the others had not been there alongside the Dragonborn, then his entire village, his family, friends and the travellers staying in the inn would not have been spared. Thus he took the oath, and joined the Blades, and had hunted dragons ever since.

Though it had only been little more than a year since he joined the Blades, to Erik it felt as if it had been a lifetime ago that he had been working the fields of Rorickstead, his father refusing to let him venture from the village. He smiled to himself as he continued to run the whetstone along the edge of his sword, seeing his own reflection in the surface of the metal. Though the smile did not last long. Though it had been Darion that had brought him to the temple it was him who he now saw the least. He was one of the few members of the Blades who knew that the Dragonborn walked out of Sky Haven Temple, refusing to return. He had watched as he argued with Delphine, refusing her wishes to see a dragon named Paarthunax slain. All Erik knew was that Darion refused to kill the dragon, on account that he could he trusted, and Delphine and Esbern refused to give him any other aid until Paarthunax lay dead. He had been ordered to leave the room after watching the argument for a while. It was not until after Darion had left that the two elder Blades told most of the other recruits that Darion was working alone from now on, but they would never elaborate on why.

Erik yelped, dropping the whetstone and pulling his hand away from his sword. As his mind had wandered, so too had his hands thus instead of running the stone along the blades edge, he had ran the tips of his fingers along the edge of the blade. Warmth slowly travelled from the tips of his fingers down to his hand. Blood soaked into the fabric that made up his gloves, and he began to curse himself for his stupidity. If he had still been living on the farm, he would either be shouting in pain or struggling not to. His time with the Blades however had left his skin scarred and his body broken enough times that pain felt normal to him, as if his whole purpose was to take the pain so as that other people might not.

'Have a little accident did we?' a woman's voice spoke, breaking the silence that Erik had been wrapped in.

'I suppose you could say that.' He held up his injured hand. 'My own fault, too far lost in my own thoughts.'

Illia chuckled slightly as she took his hand examining it. 'You've certainly made a mess of it, I'm afraid we'll have to lop them off.'

Erik gave a look of mock-horror. 'Oh no, please my lady, don't take my fingers! A man cannot work without fingers! I'll be a beggar!'

'Alright enough of that,' Illia said, flicking one his fingers, causing him to hold his tongue, struggling not to scream at her. As his muffled screams went silent, she took his hand again in one of her own, her other hand hovering over it. A golden light began to bloom from her palm, illuminating the courtyard. Erik smiled as he watched his blood slowly seep out of his glove and back into the wound. As the blood disappeared the skin on the tips of his finger melded back together and when the Illia let go of him and the light faded away, it was as if the wound had never existed. Though he still had the holes in his gloves, his fingers were no longer bleeding, which was where he stopped caring.

Erik thanked her, examining the work she had done. Though he had fought alongside the young mage a few times now, having grown up in Rorickstead had left him unexposed to the wonders of magic for most of his life. Where most Nords looked at magic as nothing more than a destructive and corruptive force, Erik saw only the unlimited potential it held to help others. He had even had a few of the other Blades begin tutoring him in basic spells. He had been exceptionally proud in his ability to light fires and candles using only his hands.

'What're you doing sitting out here by yourself anyway?' Illia asked as she sat down beside him. 'Never took you for one to stare menacingly into the night.'

'Just thinking,' Erik replied, sheathing his sword, 'Not hard enough it seems,' he laughed as he admired the mess he had made of his gloves.

'You're thinking about Darion, aren't you?' she asked, but was met only with silence. 'Of course you are, you've known him longer that most here, certainly longer than I ever did.' Illia had joined the Blades some months ago, advised by Darion, who had already left Sky-Haven Temple, to join the dragon hunters in order to hone her skills as a spell caster and to find a place to put her gifts to good use.

'I'm still just trying to get my head around why he left. If it really was just about killing a dragon, then why would he just storm off, never to return?'

'Perhaps there were other reasons; Darion is a... different kind of man.'

'I suppose having the soul of a dragon isn't all it's made out to be.'

'It's not that, it's...' she stopped for a moment, looking around to ensure that they were alone. 'You did not hear this from me, but I heard a rumour amongst some of the others. They were listening in when Darion had this argument with the Grandmaster that you told me about. They overheard him shouting at them, demanding their loyalty.'

'Demanding it?' Erik asked, 'Why would he even want their loyalty? He worked alongside them, even for them at times.'

'That's what I've been thinking,' Illia continued, 'I've been looking into things in the past week or so, into the history of the Blades and I found something that I think is the reason that Darion would storm off.' She checked around her once more, even once she was sure they were alone she spoke in a hushed tone. 'The Blades served the Septim dynasty for centuries, and once Martin Septim died they stopped working officially for the Empire, and worked independently throughout the Empire.'

'And then they were wiped out in the Great War,' Erik interjected, 'I've heard this story before Illia, what's it have to do with Darion?'

'Delphine and Esbern want to have the Blades serve their ancient customs as dragon slayers, I think Darion wanted them to take up the custom that brought the Blades to Tamriel.'

Erik stopped for a moment, thinking to himself before he too came upon the answer. 'He wasn't just angry because of that dragon, he wanted the Blades to serve him because he's Dragonborn.'

'He has dragon blood flowing through his veins, that's enough to make any man mad with power I think.'

Erik shook his head, standing from his seat to pace around the courtyard. 'He's not mad with it, he has an entitlement to it. Perhaps it was something in his blood, something... i don't know, awakening inside him. He may seem like an ordinary man, but i still tremble every time I remember seeing that look in his eyes. We cannot forget that he too is a dragon, we just have the fortune that he does not have wings. However...' he trailed off, lost in his thoughts once again.

Illia stood to stand beside him. 'What is it? What are you thinking?' She asked him.

'As Blades we are sworn to defend Tamriel against dragons when they prey on the people, but it is also our duty to serve a Dragonborn, someone who represents both sides of our struggle.' He turned to Illia. 'I don't care what Delphine says, we serve the Dragonborn above all else, that should come before our oath to simply slay dragons.'

Illia smiled and shook her head. 'A touch dramatic if you ask me, but you have a good point.' She shrugged. 'That and I don't like Delphine that much anyway. Even if we were to serve Darion, what would we do? We'd be over glorified body guards, and even then there's just us two.'

'No, most of the other recruits would see it our way, that would leave only the more original members who found their way here. Still, you have a point, it'd be nice to have more than just us.'

'Perhaps Kharjo can help with that?' a voice spoke, causing Erik and Illia to reach for their swords. They only stopped when they saw Kharjo, a Khajiit sellsword turned Blade, standing in front of them with his arms crossed mere feet away. Erik felt as if he had been standing there a while. Despite wearing the heavy armour of a Blade, the cat-man was able to sneak up on them both.

'How much did you hear?' Erik asked.

'Enough for Kharjo to know what you're planning,' he said before he revealed a toothed grin. 'You really need to keep your ears open; we could have been the wrong ears to hear you.'

'We?' Ilia asked, and almost on cue three more figures stepped out of the shadows, Faendal, Mjoll and Aerin, all except for Aerin donning their Akaviri armour.

'So,' Mjoll asked as she stepped forward. 'What did you have in mind?'

Dagny's sword clattered to the ground, her eyes looking up upon Lady Dragon Hide, the Thanes own blade at the young girl's throat.

'You have to keep a balanced grip,' Lydia instructed. 'Too tight and your sword might as well be part of your arm, far too long and useless. Too light a grip and you'll drop it. Again.'

The girl walked over to where the sparing sword had clattered away, wincing as her muscles began to ache as she knelt down to retrieve it. 'I was told you're supposed to think of a sword as part of you, an extension or something,' she noted.

'Those people are fools. A sword is something you hold, if you think of it too much as being a part of you, you'll be dead the moment you lose it.'

Since the siege of Whiterun, Dagny, like her siblings, had become much more resilient and independent, a change that was much to the relief of the palace staff and the Jarl himself. Nelkir was spending his time with mostly with Proventus, learning the ins and outs of running a city. As he was not the oldest son, it was unlikely he would inherit the title of Jarl, and thus devoted his time into learning how to help either one of his siblings come the day one of them took the throne. Frothar was to everyone's surprise spending more time with in the stables and in the saddle. After having snuck out of the palace and peeked over the wall during the Companion charge against the Stormcloak cavalry, he had become motivated to stay true to the banner of Whiterun, and made it his dream to field the finest mounted troops in Skyrim. Dagny however was the subject of most change. During the siege she like so many others had looked up to Thane Lydia and was inspired to emulate her. She had since traded in her gowns and dresses for boots, trousers and sparring armour, though like her gowns she demanded the best, so she might as well have cut a hole in her father's coin purse. It was less whining about sweet rolls and dresses, and instead she spent her days lost in dusty pages of various books and tomes on ancient warriors and battles, or practicing her own martial prowess. Though many of her combat instructors had recommended her waiting a couple of years, the impatience and stubbornness of Balgruuf's child was as alive as ever. And whenever she had a free moment when she was in Whiterun, Lydia would be sparring with her, teaching her all manner of tricks and skills that many of Dagny's other instructors were lacking.

The two of them practised upon the Great Porch, the sounds of their sparring swords ringing throughout the Porch. Lydia wore only simple clothes, having no need to don her dragon-hide. Unlike the other instructors, Lydia did not remain on the defence, allowing the child swing her sword at her wildly. She instead made her teaching style a mix of both offence and defence switching from one to another with a speed that had left many bruises on the young girls body. Much to the Thanes surprise the child did not complain about this, and instead she worked harder, stepped faster and swung harder.

At the railing overlooking the northern tundras and the mountain ranges that lay beyond, stood the Jarl, a cup in his hand and a smile on his face, watching with what seemed like true happiness as he watched his daughter train.

'I have to say,' he said, 'as much I loathe to remember those long three long months, I feel they truly did bring out the best in everyone. My children are making something of themselves, I replaced Caius with that Sinmir fellow, and the feud between the Battle-Borns and Grey-Manes has ended.'

'I'd say Whiterun was lucky,' Darion noted as he sat in his chair looking out over the tundras holding a cup of his own. 'From what I've heard war doesn't usually benefit people like that.'

Balgruuf sighed and turned back to the view of his Hold. 'Unfortunately war always benefits one man just as it dooms another. I just hope we've seen the last of such horrors. I now intend to die in my bed at a ripe old age having never to have fought another war. My sons will lead Whiterun to an even brighter future ad my daughter will become a shield maiden worthy of song and legend.' The old nord smiled to himself. 'Aye, that would be a fine way to leave the world.'

'I can think of one thing that would complete the picture,' Darion said. 'Ulfric being left to rot in a dungeon somewhere, or his head on a spike, preferably the latter.'

'His army broke before you Darion, I doubt even if he wanted to he could not raise a force of the size he brought before us. The bear of Windhelm lies bleeding in the snow. Let the Empire come and put it out of its misery, as far as I am concerned the war is over.'

'Have you no pride Balgruuf?' Darion asked. 'He besieged your city, put hundreds of your people to the sword. If the bear truly does lie bleeding the stallion of Whiterun should be the one to trample it. I've spoken to your people, even the Grey-Manes demand blood!'

'Our war is over, Darion.' Balgruuf said, remaining unusually calm. 'If you wish to go and finish off Ulfric you don't need my blessing. You go and ride your dragon to Windhelm and torch the Palace of the Kings to the ground if you desire vengeance, but just remember; when the siege of Whiterun ended, you were the only man who did not have blood on your sword.'

Darion hid a scowl from the Jarl, though he could not stop his anger from seeping into his words. 'I came as quickly as I could,' he growled. 'Had the situation been different I would have gladly have killed every last Stormcloak who dared set foot in your Hold.'

'I know that Darion' Balgruuf said, his calmness almost unbearable. 'I say that not as an insult but as a warning. You were not part of the battle, and despite the fact you are a thane of my Hold you are the Dragonborn, and that places you above the laws and oaths of men. If you were to attack Ulfric it could be seen as a personal act of war, and the people would begin to think that you act just like Ulfric, and would see to conquer your enemies.' The Jarl turned to the Dragonborn. 'You're not a conqueror, Darion, and I would hate to see the people think of you as just another warlord.'

The Dragonborn sighed, allowing his anger to fade away. 'I apologise,' he said. 'I'm just... I truly wish I had been there. I wish I could have stopped it all. So many more lives were lost because I was too distracted by-' he stopped himself before continuing. He would not speak of what happened, not to Balgruuf.

The Jarl smiled, placing a hand on his thanes shoulder. 'I am honoured to have such a man like you on my side Darion, but you should not dwell on the lives you couldn't save, and instead rejoice at the lives that you did.'

Darion scoffed to himself. 'Divines, the siege certainly changed you. You've become a bloody philosopher!' The two laughed amongst themselves at the prospect. Balgruuf did seem as if he had come out of the siege as a wiser leader, or at the very least more thankful for the peace that it now brought. The two looked back to the training once more when they heard laughter, and saw that Dagny was trying to tackle Lydia to the ground. The two shared young warriors shared their own bursts of laughter as the continued to play around, almost forgoing training entirely.

'They seem like sisters if you look at them like that,' Balgruuf said. 'I think that's the first time in a long while that I've truly heard my daughter laugh. Promise me one thing Darion,' he said and the two turned to each other once more. 'If anything were to happen to me, if the city were to fall to another attack or if Ulfric were to come seeking a duel with me, promise me you would look after my children. I know it's a selfish thing to ask, but I-'

'Of course my Jarl,' Darion said, cutting him off, a smile on his face. 'I would watch over them as if they were my own flesh and blood.'

More laughter caught the attention of the two and they turned to see that Lydia was letting Dagny ride on her shoulders, the sight of which made Balgruuf smile. 'Somehow I think Lydia will have better luck with that.'

'Let's not even think about it,' Darion said and silence settled over the two of them for a while, the only sounds present was the training that rang through the porch and icy wind of the tundra rolling in from the north.

'It'll be First Planting soon,' Balgruuf commented, breaking the silence. 'With all the seed grain that the Stormcloaks left behind we should have ourselves a bountiful harvest come autumn.'

Darion smiled at that, though First Planting had never been his favourite of holidays, it was by far an important one for Tamriel. Every year the continent sowed the seeds of the autumn harvest, and treated it as a time of year for fresh beginnings, putting an end to rivalries, neighbours reconciling arguments and diseases being cured. All across Tamriel temples and other places of healing were opened to the public for free to cleanse the ails of all who came.

'So, is Whiterun going to have its annual festival to accompany First Planting?' Darion asked. Whiterun was known for its First Planting Festival, where Nords would gather from all over Skyrim, Khajiit were allowed into the city to sell their wares, and the Jarl would pay for great circuses, tourneys and games to be held.

'No celebrations this year, I think all everyone really wants to do is just sow the seeds and be done with it. It's hard to celebrate a holiday about wiping the slate clean whilst we're still mourning our dead.'

'I disagree,' Darions said, standing from his seat. 'I think a celebration is just what we need. Not just for Whiterun, but for all of Skyrim.'

Balgruuf raised a brow at this as he lifted his cup to his lips. 'How do you figure that?'

'Simple, you invite the other Jarls to the festival.'

Balgruuf stoped a moment, his cup at his mouth. He lowered it slowly in thought. 'I suppose having the Imperial sympathisers here wouldn't be such a bad thing, I could ask for some support from them to help us rebuild, I'm sure at least one of them can spare something.

'Of course,' Darion said. 'But we'd be inviting the eastern Jarls as well.'

Balgruuf choked on his mead for a moment and began coughing it back into his cup, most of it spilling onto his robes. 'Are you mad?' he asked. 'Half of them would sooner have my head rather than attend a festival within my own walls! What's more, you'd be inviting the very men who laid siege to our walls! The people will riot in the streets before they forgive the Stormcloaks!'

'I'm not saying we invite the Stormcloaks,' Darion maintained. 'I'm saying we should invite the other Jarls. We forgo sending Ulfric an invitation of course, but the other Jarls who follow him, Jarl Korir, for example, they're the kind of people I'm talking about.'

Balgruuf scoffed at the name of the Jarl of Winterhold. 'That wretch, he has maybe a few hundred people left in that frozen ruin he calls a city, and yet he pledged his support to Ulfric as quickly as he could.'

'In name only,' Darion pointed out. 'Korir did what he did because he assumed Ulfric's victory would be quick, and then he could gain the rewards of supporting Ulfric's cause, thus he would try to rebuild his city.'

'So you're saying that he would come here, into my keep, eat from my table and still call himself Ulfric's ally? I'm sorry Darion but I cannot-'

'I never said he would be Ulfric's ally by the time he left,' Darion said with a smile whilst Balgruuf looked at his friend in surprise.

'You really think you could convince him to leave Ulfric's side? How?'

'I can do this on one condition my Jarl; Leave it all to me. Trust me, I have my ways.'

Balgruuf stared at the Dragonborn for a moment longer before smiling and shaking his head. 'Why not, could be entertaining to say the least.' He took his cup in hand. 'To your diplomatic adventures and to me surviving all the trouble it will undoubtedly raise.'

'Don't talk like that,' Darion laughed, 'you'll be dying in your bed, remember.' The two of them shared a chuckle at that, and drank. Despite his temper and his refusal to act, Balgruuf was a good friend, and that made lying to him that much harder.

'I still don't see why I have to write these,' Lydia complained, shaking her wrist to free it from stiffness before dipping her quill back into the ink pot that sat on the desk. 'You're twice as fast and your hand writing is much better than mine.'

'My handwriting is the kind that a Nord would see and think its demands from the Empire. Yours is a Nords hand writing, the kind that will make them feel comfortable when reading.' Darion said, his eyes scanning the pages of a book in hand. They sat in the study within Breezehome, which had once served as an alchemy lab for the original owners, but Darion had the room refurbished into a study with shelves filled with books and tomes lining the walls as well as a writing desk, the same place he had written up the contracts he had so recently handed out. 'Besides,' he said as he stood up and strode towards the desk, peering over Lydia's shoulder. 'You need the practise. There's supposed to be a U in honour.'

'If there's supposed to be a U then why doesn't it sound like that?' she asked, frustrated.

'It's a silent letter, like K in knife or a G in though.' He said as he took Lydia's quill and wrote these words out on a spare piece of parchment.

'What's the point in silent letters?'

'I don't know that's just the language, I didn't come up with it. I was just educated enough to learn it from when I was young.' He said as he sat back down, picking up his book once more.

Lydia stopped and turned in the seat to glare at him. 'So you're saying I'm uneducated?'

Darion lowered the book again to meet her gaze. 'Are you not?'

'That's not the point,' she snapped. 'The point is you were taught from birth how to write letters like a good little lord whilst my father was teaching me to keep my shield up. You should be the one writing these.'

'If you're going to be a part of my plans then you will have to write the odd letter occasionally, besides it's an important skill to know how to write, a lot of people can't even read. And also...' he paused a moment, getting serious. 'You slipped there.'

Lydia looked at him for a moment, confused before realising what she had. 'Damn, well at least no one was around to hear it.' Silence settled between them for a moment, Lydia returned to writing whilst Darion returned to his book. 'I still don't see why you keep it a secret, if your plan works people will find out eventually.'

'Until I have the finances, the army and the supplies that I need I wish to keep myself hidden as long as I can. People may look up to a Dragonborn, but they're more likely to follow him into battle if they think he is of common birth.'

'Well if you ask me,' Lydia said, standing from her seat, stretching out her back before picking up the letters she had written, 'Noble or commoner, I think people will be more than willing to follow you.' She handed him the letters for review. 'As I am.' She added with a smile.

Darion looked over the letters, one after the other. Originally he had written a single copy for Lydia to copy, and now in his hands he had half a dozen the copies that he needed. Though her hand writing was basic, and her grammar a little bit off, it would do.

'Very good,' he handed them back to her before reaching into his pocket, pulling out several other letters that had already been sealed and handing them over also. 'Get those into the hands of a few couriers, I have to go and meet a contact of mine.'

'You do know I'm a thane right? And that I was your personal Housecarl? If you want to send letters get yourself a steward!' she complained.

'I will, but until I get one I need someone to do these errands for me, that someone being you,' he said with a smirk. 'Besides, after that I want you to go and check up on Leandros, see how the Companions are doing.'

'I heard they've been getting new recruits almost daily, from farm boys to veteran sellswords. They've earned themselves quite the reputation since the siege.'

'Just make sure those farm boys and sellswords look like they'll be ready,' he said as he stood from his seat and made his way towards the front entrance. 'We'll be needing them soon enough.'

Lydia followed after him, she could not deny the rush she felt at the idea of Darion's plans moving forward. 'You'll be making your move so soon? What about those finances you spoke of? Or the army?'

'All in good time, that's what those letters will help me achieve. The people who will receive them, will get me what I want and then all the dominoes will be in place.'

'Dominoes?' Lydia asked.

'A High Rock game I played as a child. I suppose the term "let the dominoes fall" will be lost on you as well?' he received only a shrug in reply. 'The point is we will be ready soon, and I want to make sure the Companions are ready for the battle that is to come.'

Lydia dug through the letters, pulling one of them out. 'And how will... Kaitara of House Telvani help us?'

'All in good time Lydia.' he said as he strapped his sword to his belt before pulling on a large woollen cloak, pulling the hood over his head.

'I wish you would keep me more informed about this sort of thing Darion,' she said as she approached him, standing before him, staring into his eyes. 'We're in this together, if we fail I could be imprisoned for being your accomplice. I'd like to know that you at least trust me with some of the details.'

He scoffed at that. 'Accomplice? If we get imprisoned I'll tell them the whole thing was your idea.' He said with a smile before disappearing out the door, leaving her with a surprised look on her face before she smiled to herself and shook her head.

By the time Lydia had handed each of the letters off to a courier the sun was at its zenith, and most of the city was alive with afternoon activity. As she walked the streets of the city she could still see the destruction wrought by the Stormcloaks attack. Buildings remained destroyed; even a few arrows remained imbedded in the sides of them and the black charred wood of the fires that had ravaged the city daily. And yet the people, though they had been through a long a bloody experience, looked stronger than ever. It seemed as if everyone stood just that little bit taller, their eyes almost shining with pride. Not everyone was happy, that was for certain as there were still many who mourned their dead, some were even resentful that the Stormcloaks hadn't taken the city. One such case was Heimskr, a man who claimed to be a prophet of Talos, and yet all he did was babble nonsense all day, every day of the week. His more recent sermons were directed at the city itself, stating that all of Whiterun was sinful for not allowing the worship of Talos to return to the city with a Stormcloak victory. Regardless of the religious fanatics, many people were just glad to be alive, many of which bowed and praised Lydia as she walked by. As one woman shouted her blessings she saw why Darion wore his cloak so that he might not draw so much attention.

As she approached Jorrvaskr the ringing of swords reached her ears alongside the shouts of the Harbinger, causing her to smile. She made her way around the side of the mead hall until she could see the courtyard, where dozens of men and women swung blunted or wooden weapons at each other. There were grunts of exhaustion, a roar as one partner went on the attack and even a few yelps when someone struck the wrong place too hard.

As Lydia approached many of the Companions stopped and saluted her before going back to training, some of them were the familiar faces of the Companions she fought alongside during the siege. As she made her way through the throng of warriors, she soon found the Harbinger, ducking and dodging the attacks of a young Nord lad little more than fifteen years, whose strikes, despite not hitting their target, were strong and precise. Though the boy wore his armour, a simple iron breastplate, Leandros wore only a pair of trousers his boots and was completely unarmed, his upper body exposed to the chill that was in the air. If it were any colder, Lydia mused to herself, she thought she might have seen steam rising off the Nord's body. She could not help but blush.

Soon enough Leandros decided he'd had enough, delivering a jab to the boy's stomach, causing him to stumble back, clutching the spot where he'd been hit.

'You fight well,' he said, holding out a hand, which the boy gladly took, despite the fact he was in pain. 'Go and find Ria, she'll give you the tour of the mead hall.' The boy nodded before running off, the grin on his face never leaving. Leandros himself smiled as he saw Lydia approach. 'The Great Thane Lydia graces us with her presence, surprised your still here, and here I thought you and the Dragonborn would have conquered the world by now.'

'All in good time, Harbinger, we still need your help for that' She said, sighing to herself as she realised she was beginning to sound like Darion. 'I just came by to see how things were going here, maybe annoy you a bit whilst I'm at it.' She added with a smile.

Leandros chuckled a moment. 'I spent three months in a siege with you Lydia, trust me, I think I can handle you for five minutes. I'm assuming Darion sent you to check up on our progress?'

'He's wanting to make sure that they're ready for-' she stopped herself, looking around her to ensure no one else could have heard her. 'He's just wanting to see how the Companions are coming along.' She lied.

Leandros smirked and shook his head. 'I may be a warrior, but don't think for a moment I'm just a brute. Tell Darion that we'll be ready for whatever he needs us for. Don't suppose you'd be willing to let slip what exactly that is?'

She shook her head. 'Sorry, I won't betray his trust like that. All I know is that he wants to make a move soon, that's all I can say... to be honest that's all I really know.'

'I'm sure he has his reasons, regardless, when he calls for us, we'll be there, count on it.' He said with a nod. 'And make sure he remembers our talk about payment, I haven't had any heads up about that yet.'

'I'll be sure to run it by him, to be honest with the amount he's been up to, I'm not sure where exactly he is going to get that much gold from.'

It was not until a week later one of the couriers from Whiterun arrived in Riften, delivering the message as he was payed to. The Courier would not know it, but the letter would be exchanged half a dozen times, through various associates and messengers, even into the hands of a mage who tested it briefly in case it was rigged with magic. By the time it made it into the hands of the recipient, they had already heard that a letter was coming their way. Though they had exchanged words before, the recipient had never expected a letter from the Dragonborn himself. They had ordered all of the servants, guards and even their family out of the house before retreating into their study waiting only until they were certain that they were alone. They broke the seal on the letter reading the contents, their brow rising at its contents.

'A loan?' Maven Black-Briar asked herself out loud.

Pietersielie: Thanks mate, yeah it's kind of hard since I mostly write the main characters being goodie-two-shoes, but I felt like I needed someone like that for this story, trust me though, there's more of that to come ;)

ShoutFinder: Haha I know! I only just realised that mistake now, thanks, I remember watching an interview with George RR Martin with him talking about that kind of problem, and sometimes you just have to roll with it. Arren and Artemis were both my OCs whereas Alyce was that of a friend of mine, of course I changed a lot about her, because Alyce would have been a paragon assassin otherwise, and there's not a whole lot of them around a cult of murderers. Arthur was just rushed name on my part, kinda wish I named him Mordred now :P

TheEternal Guest: Thanks mate, exactly, too many people write these stories in a 'holier than thou' type of feel, the truth is that whilst Darion is really a dragon, he's still human, and humans who make it in a fantasy setting like this can't always be good guys.

ChronoMitsurugi: Never thought of it like that, thanks for the tip mate. This is my first time writing a character with aspirations like Darion's, but to be honest I don't think you've given him enough of a chance. At the moment he's laying the foundations, though I have written some plans up in which he starts becoming more present in public eye because so far he's been working to control the shadows. Make no mistake though, you're right, he is NOT Tiber Septim at least in his personality, he is only like Septim in the fact that he is Dragonborn. He's not conquering the world because it was foretold in a prophesy, he's doing it because he can and because he wants to :)

_**Hey guys, sorry for the long absence, university is over for me until march next year so I hope to put up a fair bit of content before then. I rushed this one a bit since I was going between writing and my assignments, so it may seem aa little rough :P**_

_**Thanks to everyone who has been following and favouriting the story whilst I've been gone, it means so much to me when I check my emails in the morning to find alerts that people are enjoying what I write. I've also had a thought recently, if anyone would be up for doing any kind of art for this story, be it a drawing or sketch of Darion or something feel free to message me, I'm betting there's got to be a few great artists amongst you. I wouldn't be able to pay you in money, I could only offer my thanks and let everyone know about your work and direct attention to you. **_

_**But hey, thanks for sticking with me, and I hope to get another chapter out soon.**_

_**Peace!**_


	13. The Knight-Brothers

Maria screamed as her hands scrambled to find a hold on something, a tree root, a rock, anything to stop her from being dragged further. Her captor held her ankle in his hand, his grip was like that of shackles. His touch was like ice, his laughter, and that of his companions who walked alongside him, like the cackle of demons. As they exited the woods and into the moonlit clearing, Maria felt her captor pull her stronger and in a moment she found herself in the air, her screams spiralling around the clearing as she was thrown over twenty feet forward. Her landing was not as graceful as her departure from the earth, and she found herself touching back down violently before her momentum sent her rolling across the ground. Her skin was cut in some places, and if she was not so preoccupied with being terrified she would have felt that one of her ribs was now cracked.

As she began to recollect herself, she began flailing along the ground as she tried to crawl away from where he attackers had thrown her from. Her hands pulled her over patches of dirt and grass as well as over a few rocks before they found something that did not belong. Her hands wrapped around the cold leather boot of one of her attackers, though it was not until she looked up into those eyes, those eyes that burned like red coals, that she screamed once more. A another shackle like grip took hold of her blonde hair, and her screams became all the more filled with pain as she was once more hoisted into the air, the tips of her toes just barely scraping the tips of grass blades as her captor held her face to his.

If she had not been so terrified, she would have said he was quite handsome, with long brown hair pulled back into a pony tail and a scruffy black beard. He had to be in his thirties or so, and he had seemed so normal when he and his companions happened upon her family's farm, and yet he was now the centre of all her fear and anger. He had introduced himself as Feist, a travelling story teller, yet it had all been was a distraction for his companions to work their way closer before striking.

'My dear sweet girl,' he spoke, his voice so calm and soft despite the girls screams. 'Why did you have to run? Now you have gotten yourself all dirty and broken. Though I suppose that is to be expected, you humans are so fragile after all.' He turned and began to walk, all the while the girl swung from his grip like a pendulum. He walked only a little further before dropping her back to the ground, her cracked rip now breaking as gravity delivered her to the dirt once more. She began to scurry away once more, her tears almost blinding her as she tried to crawl away from him yet the tears could not hide what was now in front of her. A small wooden cottage with a thatched roof, a candle still burning in the window, three bodies nailed by their hands to its walls. She stopped where she was; lip quivering as she fought back a sob. Though her will was strong she could not hold back her scream. Her call echoed out into the night, followed quickly by the sound of laughter, the laughter of many.

With tears still in her eyes, she turned back to see those who had struck down her family and hung them from their family home as if hunting trophies. Those who had chased her through the woods, toying with her. There had to be at least two dozen of them, a mixture of men and elves, men and women. Yet all shared the same burning red eyes. As they laughed she could see for certain what she had only caught glimpses of before, their canines longer and sharper than that of dogs, some of them still had the blood of her family smeared across their lips. Vampires.

She flinched as she felt and hand place itself on her shoulder, it was Feist.

'Calm now, child. What's done is done, there is no use clinging to such emotions for the dead.' His hand crept its way down over her chest towards her stomach, his touch that of ice even with her clothes on. 'Come with us now, your time with them is over.'

She could not deny it, there was something about his voice, his touch, even as the pain in her side and that within her soul tore her apart she felt as if she could go with him, be with him. She wanted to do things for him, let him do things to her. His scent, his breath, his touch and his voice all were like honey to her in that moment. But it was also in that moment she saw her little brother's face, her poor, sweet innocent little brother. The memory played over and over again in her mind. The snapping of his fingers one by one, the piercing of his throat by the teeth of these monsters. All of it boiled inside of her until the world was a blur to her. She could hear herself scream once more, this time in anger. She felt her body move yet could not tell what she was doing.

By the time her vision returned to normal she noticed the laughter had stopped, it was not until she truly felt the silence that she felt the weight of what she now held in her hand. Somehow, whilst the world blurred and the anger within her raged, the soft hands of a poor fourteen year old girl had curled their way around a rock that she must have plucked off of the ground. She quickly realised that she was no longer on her knees either; she was standing, though she did not stand proudly at her full height on account of the pain in her side. Feist, whose hands had danced across her body stood a few feet back, wiping the side of his mouth with his sleeve that quickly became stained with blood. Though the soft voice and handsome face had long left him, now she could truly see him for who he was, what he was.

'Monster!' she spat and she felt in that moment as if she could hit him again. Yet nothing could prepare her for what happened next. One moment he had stood a few feet in front of her, the next his face was directly in front of hers before she was sent flying once more, the air in her lungs brutally forced out as his fist collided with her gut. She flew head first into the cottage wall, and for a moment she thought herself dead as her vision began to blur once more, as darkness began to take her. Yet the world would not be so kinds as she felt a pain beyond reckoning erupt from her knee. Though she feared to look she could not help to catch a glimpse as she pushed herself back into the wall, trying to escape the pain. Feist raised his boot from her leg, and her scream became all the more louder and all the more agonising as she witnessed her leg bending at an entirely unnatural angle.

'At least your family had the sense to die pitifully!' he said as his hands went for her neck. 'WAS I NOT MERCIFUL!?' he roared at her. 'I was ready to let you live, to be my slave! But you had to have inherited more courage than all of them combined! You little bitch! You whore!' Insults and words continued to poor from his mouth, as he continued to squeeze her neck. She would not have her neck snapped, that was too merciful a death for Feist to bestow upon her. She would be made to suffer for what she had done. And yet as the life slowly drained from her young form, she did not regret a thing. It had been true, not even her father put up a fight. At the first sign of trouble he had fallen to his knees and begged for mercy. Her mother offered up her womanhood to the attackers if they would just let them live whilst her brother merely screamed and cried. She would die, at least she thought, with some small sense of honour.

Curses and names, foul names, continued to flow from his mouth as her vision became dark. And then it seemed as if all it one moment it stopped when she heard it, a howl of pain that was not hers, nor any from her family. She felt the pressure around her neck suddenly release and she gasped in what felt like the sweetest breath that she had ever tasted. She felt as if she would cough up something before she finally got her breath back, and although she could breathe once more, it pained her greatly to do so. She looked up to Feist only to find that his gaze was no longer on her, nor were any of those he had brought with him. It was then that she what was left of one of the attackers fall limp to the ground, his body quite literally cut in half.

Though the clouds hid the moon from the night sky, she could still see the two new figures that had entered the clearing where she and her family had once made their home. They both wore cloaks, one as black as the night sky the other as white as the stars that shone above, their faces hidden beneath the shadows of their hoods. Despite the fact one of the creatures lay in two before them, there was no evidence that they even possessed a weapon them. Yet all the same they stood there, surrounded by the creatures that could so easily tear them limb from limb.

'W-Who in Oblivion do you think you are?' Feist asked. Though he tried to hide it, even Maria could hear the worry in his voice. It was a new occurrence to him, seeing one of his own so swiftly cut down. His senses made elves look blind and deaf, and yet somehow these strangers had taken one of them by surprise. Unless one was trained in fighting such creatures beyond natural strength, it could take a maximum of five men to take on a single vampire.

Silence followed his question, a long unnerving silence, before a gloved hand reached out from within the black cloak to pull back the hood, revealing a Breton man with short black hair and a thin black beard. Many of the vampires were surprised by this, they expected a rival, yet all they saw was a mortal man who was at least forty years old.

'It would seem that we were too late to save the rest of the family. Such a shame.' The man said, not addressing Feist himself

'Nothing but an act of unfounded barbarism.' The white cloak responded as he pulled down his own hood. His face was not unlike the black cloak, the same black hair though his features were much sharper, clean shaven, and he was clearly many years younger, no older than sixteen at least. 'At least one survives. Are you alright my lady?' he asked Maria, though he received no response.

'She appears frightened, Brother.' The Black cloak continued. 'I can't say I blame her, I imagine seeing her family nailed to her own house and being surrounded by such creatures would be a startling ordeal.'

'Only startling, brother?'

'Is a stronger word required?'

'Perhaps the experience is terrifying? A young beauty such as her suddenly losing her family rather violently and faced with the impending death of having every drop of blood being drained from her. After they after they violate her of course.'

'Of course, no need to beat around the bush as mother used to say. Of course they'd violate her. Or perhaps these creatures are the kinds who prefer to violate their victims after sending them to the gods.'

'Most distasteful in any case.'

'Quite right, brother. Would you like to handle this or shall I?'

'I have no taste for this tonight. Can I trust that you can handle this brood?'

'Oh ye of little faith, brother. Now stand back, wouldn't want my big brother to be caught up in the forthcoming death.' He said as he stepped further towards the vampires, leaving his brother behind.

'My... my death?' the leader asked, almost unsure as to how to react. Yet as the words left him a sharp grin began to form and he could not help himself from laughing. Soon the rest of his clan joined in, and once more the night was filled with the laughter of vampires.

'I suppose it must seem amusing from your standpoint,' the White cloak said, his words cutting off the laughter. 'However I would ask your name, Vampire, before my brother kills you and all night spawn gathered here.'

'My name?' Feist asked, almost confused by the question.

'Indeed,' the black cloak noted as he began untying his cloak. 'We require your name for our report. It is simply easier to refer to you by your birth name as well as the fact we will have to deliver our condolences to any family you might have, human or otherwise.'

Feist merely scoffed. 'My mother always told me never to talk with strange men, lest they have some ill designs upon me.' The leader laughed before nodding towards him. 'Kill him, and enjoy the meat. Young Maria here still requires my attention.' He began to turn back to Maria, who began to press herself against the wall once more, trying to get away. His clan readied themselves, their teeth bared as they walked towards the two Bretons, quickly surrounding them.

The White cloaked sighed. 'I suppose we'll have to refer to him as "the leader". Shame, I prefer to know the names of those I'm about to kill.

'Not to worry brother,' The Black cloak chipped in. 'Perhaps if we give our names first he will remember his manners,' he said as the two of them removed their cloaks, throwing them to the side. As the cloaks hit the ground the vampires came to laugh at the attire they wore beneath. All the armour they wore consisted of a leather breast plate as well as a pair of light leather gauntlets, both sets painted black and white respectively, and a pair of solid black leather boots. Under their armour all they wore were a pair of trousers and short sleeved tunics. To the Vampires they were no knights in shining armour; in fact many of them could have probably torn their breast plates in two with their bare hands. One thing that they did not take care to notice however was the bronze sun that had been worked onto either brother's breast plate. They bore no weapons that anyone could see, besides a bundle of chains held in the right hand of the one in black.

'We are Mordred and Geheris Du Couteau of Daggerfall,' the one in black began, revealing his name. From the chains in his hand fell a single spiked double edged dagger still attached to the chain. 'The Knight-Brothers of the Dawnguard!' Before the Vampires could comprehend what had happened, the black cloak had flicked his arm forward, sending the chained blade into the heart of one of their number. As quickly as the blade had entered the creature's body it removed itself as Mordred pulled back his arm. The chain spun through the air, carrying the blade with it, before quickly wrapping itself around his arm once more. With but a few steps and another flick of his arm the blade flew through their air, this time imbedding itself within the skull of one of the vampires, who only gasped briefly before falling to the ground.

By the time the fourth body hit the ground the Vampires drew what weapons they had and tried to charge Mordred. However their efforts were halted by the chain as it continued to spin around him, forming a loose yet sharp barrier between himself and the vampires. Whilst the chain's movement defended him, the blade continued to dart around him, slicing and stabbing all those it was directed at. The chain continued to wrap and unwrap itself around Mordred's arms, legs and even his neck as the dagger swung through the air as it were a gust of wind with the edge of elven steel. The few times that one of the vampires made it past the defence Mordred either dodged the attack and continued spinning the chain or he delivered a hard kick to the unlucky vampire's head. The night spawn quickly learned that that the Bretons boots had been fitted with Spiked silver studs that dotted the sole of the boot.

Despite the unnatural speed and reflexes that they all possessed, the vampires found themselves drawn into a standstill with the Breton. After at least half their number had been slain the vampires decided that coming anywhere near the Breton meant death.

Maria watched on with amazement and even Feist was forced to stop his advance toward with an open mouth. These creatures that he had gathered, plucked from the gutters, alleys and brothels across the Rift, were being cut down by a mortal man swinging a chain whilst his brother stood but a few feet away and watched as if his brood didn't even know they were there. The Divines above and Daedra below only knew how enraged he became as he watched his brood back away from the Breton. Upon seeing their hesitation, the Breton's chain wrapped itself around his arm once more and he returned to a guarding pose, his arm as ready as ever to send the blade flying through the night once more.

'Enough!' he roared, catching the attention of all within the clearing. 'I will not stand here and let you pathetic fools dishonour me any further!' He turned his back on Maria, wrenching his spear from out of the earth and began his walk towards the Breton.

'You dishonour yourself friend,' Mordred spoke. 'You would occupy yourself with a defenceless girl whilst the greatest test of your strength stands before you. The surest sign of a coward is when you send others to fight an enemy that seeks only you.'

Feist tried to laugh at this, but the Bretons words only further angered him.

'You would dare question my courage? You who would swing a chain around yourself all night rather than fight like a man!' he roared.

'When dealing with monsters,' Geheris chimed in, 'One can put aside the honours bestowed upon opponents by the laws of chivalry. You are neither deserving of our respect, nor our fear.'

A low growling emanated from Feist, his grip around the shaft of his spear tightened to a point where it might have snapped.

'You dare speak that way to a Lord of Vampires?' He roared, his teeth bared. He pulled back his spear before casting it at Geheris, who had stood there watching the entire time. Even if his brother were able to unwrap his chain in time, he would never block an attack such as that. Or at least that is what Feist believed. The spear flew towards the younger Breton, yet upon impact, it was his body melted into a hundred small creatures, and the spear flew off into the darkness. It was not until this swarm flew back at Feist did he see what they were.

Hundreds of small razor fanged bats began to swarm him, and he was reduced to flailing his fists around to swat them away. He tried calling to his brood for help, yet all they would do is stand there as Geheris had done, only with eyes wide in terror as they watched their master become a feast for hundreds of flying rodents. His screams filled the clearing as his blood began to soak the soil on which he stood. The bats swarmed and attacked him for what felt like hours to him. He tried to cast what few spells he learned into them, but the pain, the brushing of their wings upon his skin and the constant screech of the creatures made it far too difficult to concentrate.

By the time the swarm dissipated he was left standing, barely. He swayed in the cool night breeze like a tree before falling to his knees. Nearly every inch of his body covered in deep cuts and bite marks. His right arm spun limply on the few thread like strands of flesh that kept it attached to him. His brood watched on, unable to comprehend what they had just watched. It was not until they heard the voice of Geheris once more that they came back to reality. Though the vampires could tell it was the young Breton's voice, there was something far darker about it than they had heard before.

_'What's the matter?' _his voice seemed to echo around them, as if his voice was the wind that blew through the clearing. He spoke again, his voice seeming to rise in ager at every sentence. _'Are you telling me that you cannot heal your wounds? Nor change your body into a swarm of bats? Are you trying to say that without your arm, and without being able to concentrate your magicka, you can't even defend yourself?' _

Feist's neck was taken hold of in an iron grip, the momentum of his body being lifted from the ground causing his arm to fully remove itself from him. With what little strength he had he was able to open his eyes, only to regret it the moment his gaze was cast upon the creature that stood before him. The Breton was no more, at least not the same one who had stood before him moments before. His eyes glowed a deep red, his fangs bared themselves as he snarled.

_'You dare call yourself a Vampire Lord? You disgust me!' _He roared.

His grip tightened, and it was only for a moment that he felt his windpipe collapsing in on itself before his neck exploded. His blood splattered across the face of the Breton's face an armour, its dark red splashing across the white leather and cloth that made up his attire before the rest of his body fell to the ground. In his hands Geheris held a few chunks of ravaged flesh and crushed spine all attached to the head of what was once Feist.

'_Pathetic,' _he growled before allowing the head to fall from his hands. It fell to the earth, rolling across the dirt before finally stopping, its eyes still wide with horror. Geheris' gaze now went to the few Vampires that remained in the clearing, most of them had been slain, a few of them had run. Now only half a dozen stood frozen in fear. The two Bretons grinned at them now, one with the smile of a human, the other with his fangs gleaming in the moon light. They didn't need to say a single word more. As quickly as the brood had descended upon the farm, they vanished either running off in groups or scattering to the winds.

'Well,' Mordred said, unwrapping the chain from around himself. 'That was eventful. A shame he dragged you into the fray, I was rather looking forward to removing his head myself.'

'A shame indeed,' Geheris said as he smeared blood across his face in an attempt to wipe it off. 'It will take some manner of time to wash the blood out of my clothes, oh well. Regardless, it's done. We should return to the fort.' He spun on his heel and began to walk away.

'What of her?' Mordred noted, and his brother turned back to see that the farm girl, the only other soul left with them in the clearing, was still sitting up against her family home, her eyes still wide with fear.

'She can look after herself I'm sure. There's an Imperial Camp not far from here. She can find help there.'

'We cannot just leave her brother. Not after what she has seen.'

'We return to a fortress, not an orphanage.'

'Which is where she will find herself most likely. A waste of a brave heart if you ask me. You saw the way she resisted that vampire's lure. That kind of will power could be useful.' He turned to the girl. 'What say you, child? Would you come with us? We would be offering you safety, but if you wish for a chance to stop this from happening to anyone else, now is the time to choose.'

Maria could not help but stay silent. It had all been far too fast for her. Her family slain, her mind probed by that monster, the two men who had come to her rescue and the revelation that one of them was the same kind of monster who had killed her family.

'Enough waiting,' Geheris snapped, bring the girl back to reality. 'Make your decision girl. Those Vampires may yet return for you. They will tear each other apart for a piece of you. Your family is dead. Come with us, or die here too.'

The choice hung in the air. She could run for the Imperial camp, beg the soldiers for help. Yet she could find herself being forced off to an orphanage just as the older man had said. The choice was hers, either stand and walk with them to wherever they were headed, or stay and risk the return of the creatures, and the threat of even more pain for her. Slowly, despite one of her ribs still being broken and her leg still being kicked in, she stood. The Knight-Brothers could not help but smile.

**Duesal Bladesinger: **Not actually THE Black Arrow, but you nailed the reference! Pay attention and you may find out as to why he carries that name :)

**Roseria Sylvester: **Oh how he snapped indeed! Thanks, hope to see you enjoy the rest of the story!

**Mangahero18: **Kay, this soon enough for you? And thanks a bunch!

**Gallantmon7196: **Thanks mate, that really means a lot. Yeah from writing the first chapter I knew that I couldn't make Darion a goodie-two-shoes, it'd be too generic. Most of the Guild-Masters are actually all characters that I had planned to use for different stories (Besides Alyce Lachance and Rin who were actually characters created by **Roseria Sylvester**, you should go check out some of her stuff). But I figured why not get them altogether now. Hope you liked the Knight-Brothers, they are the newest characters I have yet come up with, oh but how there will be many more to come.

** : **Yep, I knew as I was writing the scene with Darion and Lydia that there needed to be a wee bit of humour to keep it interesting. It also helped set up the fact that unlike Lydia Darion had a full education. Hope this chapter satisfied you as well my friend!

**Pietersielie: **That Will to Dominate has yet to truly manifest yet my friend, don't you worry about that. As for the loan from Maven, we'll have to see what happens.

**Dragonofelder****: **Whether or not it works out for Darion we will have to see my friend. Wars cannot be waged without coin, and Darion will need a lot of it. What good is a story about a rise to power without a few complications :)

**_Hey guys, so that was a bit more Vampirism than I usually write. You can all blame my girlfriend for getting me hooked onto _**_The Originals. __**Been a while eh? Sorry for the long wait, I've been torn between ideas as to where the story should go, as well as dealing with my own life.**_

**_Now if there is one thing you must know it is that I have in fact changed the name of the Dawnguard OC I mentioned in one of the previous chapters from Arthur, on account that there are already a few people with names beginning with 'A'. On top of that, I have added a second character to the Dawnguard, Geheris, Mordred's brother. I hope that you guys enjoyed the calm little conversation between the two of them as much as I enjoyed writing it. I figured that we didn't have a pair of twins in this story yet, so what better way to have them than with twin vampire slayers, with one of them actually being a vampire himself!_**

**_Any way I hope you enjoyed this chapter, whether you noticed or not I tried to go for a shorter more to the point style that I picked up from a book I've been reading as of late. Not entirely happy with it but it was better than going back and re-writing the whole thing. Be sure to tell me what you think before I post the next chapter, which will have Darion once more, as this chapter I decided to write on a whim within a couple of days. Either way, hope to hear what you all think. _**

**_Peace!_**


	14. Unrest and Matrimony

'Filthy elf!' the guard shouted, grabbing the young Dunmer woman by the arms whilst his comrade grabbed her legs. The woman, though scream and try as she might received no help.

All she could wonder was why. One moment she had been walking home from the Candle-Hearth Hall where she performed for the Nords, the next the guards had called her a thief. She had denied the accusations of course, but then they had seized her, dragging her away into an alley. She was afraid not only for her life now, but also for what the guards were undoubtedly planning for her. Even as her screams reached the ears of her fellow Dunmer they went ignored for no one wanted to meddle with the guard in fear of their own persecution.

As guards hauled her into the alley, lowering her to the ground, the began trying to pull away her clothing. At first their attempts were slow as they merely tried to push away the clothing but their pace quickened as they tore at her dress, her nakedness becoming exposed to the snow covered stone. They began trying to pull away their own trousers, but it was only then they heard a voice speak up through the woman's screams, a Nord's voice.

'Enough of this!' Brunwulf shouted, his hand on his sword.

The two guards stopped to look at him, and quickly began pulling their trousers back up, readying themselves for conflict. Though Brunwulf Free-Winter was a Nord, he was one of the few in the city who refused to follow the tradition of racism and discrimination that many Nords harboured, particularly for the dark elves. And he stood there now, clad in traditional scaled armour with his arms exposed to the cold, revealing the large build one who had been swinging his sword longer than either of the guardsmen had been alive.

'Be gone, both of you,' he said again, his voice quieter but no less threatening. 'I'll not ask you again.'

'What's it to you elf-lover,' one of the guards spoke, his own hand going for the axe that hung from his belt. 'I think you should be the one who should get going.'

Brunwulf took a step towards the two of them, and that was all it took to make their tones change. He continued taking steps until he was looking down his nose at guard who had spoken.

'Are you threatening me boy?' he asked, though he received no response from either of them. Brunwulf had that effect on people, the effect that put those who would dare back talk or threaten a veteran of the Great War. 'Be off, the both of you, and pray to the gods I don't remember your faces when I let Ulfric know of this .'

A low grumble escaped the two guards before they slowly walked past him, replacing their helmets in the hope no one else saw their faces either. Once they were gone Brunwulf turned back to the young dunmer, who had pulled what remained of her clothing to cover herself. She looked up at Brunwulf, tears in her eyes as he approached before scooping her up into his arms and carrying her away. Though she felt like a child doing it, she could not help but bury her face into the old Nord's shoulder, trying to hide her tears.

'His army has almost completely deserted him! Now is the time to be heard!' Caldeer, a young Dunmer spoke above the arguments and bickering that sounded throughout the New Gnisis Cornerclub within the walls of Windhelm. The building, particularly the main room, was completely crowded with Dunmer, those who could not find a chair or elevated position to sit were either standing or sitting on the floor, and those who could not find a place inside, gathered around the front door to listen in on what they could. A space in the centre of the room had been left vacant, the space that Caldeer now occupied. 'All of Skyrim knows it now, Ulfric is not invincible!'

'He may not be invincible,' another shouted. 'But he still has an army, and the man can still kill you with a single word.'

'You're afraid of him then?' Caldeer sneered, 'why don't slink on back to your own hovel, and whilst you're at it look at all the other hovels around you! We are forced to live in this slum where the shit of all the nords rolls down the hill, and you would sit here, content and afraid.' He spat on the floor in front of his kinsmen

'You'd be a bloody fool if you were not afraid of him,' Ambarys, the owner of the club spoke up from behind the bar as he cleaned a mug with a small rag. 'You all know I despise the Nords as much as anyone, but even if all of Skyrim knows that he can be beaten he's still powerful.' His words were mat with varied reactions, though none berated him outright, the cornerclub was the only place in Windhelm for a dark elf to have a drink in peace, and no one wanted to antagonise the owner.

'What would you have us do then?' Caldeer continued, refusing to stay silent. 'Wait until the Imperials finally make their way here to march Ulfric to the chopping block?'

'Azura's tits no,' Ambarys responded, slamming the mug down on the bar. 'I'm just calling you out for the fool that you are for thinking that just because he's lost face it means he's less of a danger than he was before!'

The shouted broke out after that, and the residents of the Grey Quarter began to bicker and argue amongst themselves once more, just as they had almost every night since word of Ulfric's defeat at WHiterun reached them. At first the news had been a message of hope, a message that may finally herald real change for those within the city's walls who were not Nords.

Yet all it did was spark even more anger form the Nords. Patrols of guardsmen became more infrequent in the Grey Quarter causing a rise in thievery and violence. And even when the patrols did pass through the filth that the dunmer were forced to live in, they were just as abusive and violent as ever, if not more so. Stalls were collapsed by swings from a guardsmens axe, curses and abuse were shouted to all who dared cross their path. Even he beggars amongst the dunmer were not safe as the guards stole what little they received in the way of alms.

'What would suggest we do then?' Caldeer shouted abouve the arguments, bringing silence once again. 'I doubt any of us here would be willing to make another appeal to Ulfric or that snivelling steward of his. And if no one else is brave enough for a show of force, what would you want us to do?' All went silent, as everyone gathered were truly eager to hear the old bartender's thoughts, yet he could not answer Caldeer, he could not provide an answer to the curiosity of all gathered in his establishment. Caldeer smirked at this, knowing now that he had the loudest and known opinion in the Corner Club. That was the problem with mobs, they are much like sheep that follow only the loudest or most violent of voices, not because they agreed but because the man's words were enough to inspire the same anger and bloodlust that flowed in their own veins. 'So,' he continued, 'our only option now is to show Ulfric once and for all that he is not as powerful or as mighty as he'd like to think his stormcloaks to think. The Grey Quarter will storm the city, and we will let the Nords know the pain we have had to suffer all these longs years. Let them be the target for once of prejudice and hate. I say that we storm the rest of Windhelm! No mercy!'

Though many made their approval known throughout the Corner Club, many more did not take sides, or at the very least only raised their vices in approval but not their hearts. Though compared to the rest of the Nord populace the Dunmer had little in the way of arms save for those who owned daggers or those few who were lucky enough to have a licence to import weapons into the cities to sell, though most of the arms they received were covered in rust or chipped at the edges.

It was only as Caldeer continued to shout out his hatred, his rallying cries that a new voice began to spoke up. At first no one heard her, yet slowly one by one the Corner Club fell silent for her voice, even Caldeer's wine fuelled rage was silenced by the newcomer. She sat in the corner, her hood pulled over her head, though all could see she was a Dunmer.

'If you act in violence against the Nords they will only respond in kind,' she spoke, her voice that of a slightly older Dunmer, though one still in her prime. 'Your numbers are indeed impressive, and Ulfric may have been dealt a blow, but against the guards and those among the Nords who would relish the chance to kill you, an uprising like the one you want might last an afternoon, maybe a day. Retribution at the hands of the Nords however would last days. If you think the world you live in now is miserable, you have yet to see your kin hanging from nooses in the streets, their heads mounted on spikes at every corner.'

'And you have seen this before?' one woman within the crowd called out.

'I've seen race riots in cities all over the continent, though it doesn't take a scholar to see that Dunmer here are hated above all. There may be a few people willing to side with you, but if there choice is between protecting an elf and standing up to Ulfric's soldiers, you can bet every septim you have that they'll stay inside, no matter how high the flames burn.

Everyone was silent now, silently taking in the harsh reality that to fight against the Nords would do no more for them than silently taking the abuse. There were few in the way of warriors in the Grey Quarter, most of them were either refugees from Morrowwind or descendants of those who had fled their homeland after the Argonians viciously invaded from Black Marsh. Those among them who knew how to fight had found work as amateur guards for merchant caravans, and fewer still actually owned weapons of their own.

'If we cannot attack them in force,' Caldeer spoke, once more letting himself be heard, much to the dismay of the less extreme. 'What would you have us do?'

'We stand together, show our strength yet we do not act upon it,' the stranger continued, standing from her seat to stride into the centre of the room, to let herself be the centre of the Dunmer's attention. 'We march together, as one, right into the heart of the city and we demand that we be heard, not through violence or intimidation but by our combined will and desire to be heard. We let Ulfric know that even though he has a war to fight, we are still here. We are still under his protection not only as Dunmer but also as people. We must remind him what it means to rule without discrimination or hate, and show that whilst we are willing to gather as one that were are also above settling our complaints with barbaric violence.' She looked around her at the faces gathered. 'I intend to march into the city tomorrow,' she pulled back her hood, her red Dumeri eyes staring into those of her kin. She was as much a Dunmer as the rest of them, though she carried a display of bright yellow war paint. 'I intend to march there proud of who and what I am. Will any of you stand with me?' she asked, receiving an almost instant reaction from the crowd, they cheered, holding their drinks and fists up high.

Though his ways were to be ignored, Caldeer himself was cheering alongside the rest of them, not wanting to look defeated. Many patted the stranger on the back, cheering out calls of "Together, As One," and "Proud to be Dunmer". As the cheering progressed Caldeer made his way through the crowd towards the stranger, placing his hand on her shoulder.

'You know how to draw the crowds, I admire that,' he said. 'Might I know your name?'

'It's Jenassa,' she said with a smile. 'A pleasure to meet you.'

* * *

'Finest steaks and ribs, fresh from the wilds!' shouted one merchant.

'Oysters, clams and cockles!' Shouted another.

'Come one, come all, my produce is as fresh as the day it was collected!'

Merchants from near and far, bards and jugglers, knights and Housecarls, noble and peasant alike, all were gathered in and around Whiterun. Tents and stalls were set up all throughout the city, the richer merchants setting themselves up at the gates and the walls, being the first to greet new arrivals to the through the gates, displaying their wears for all to see whilst those not dressed so finely were forced to set up their stalls further into the city. The inn keepers across the city received so many visitors some of them gave up their own beds when nobles seeking accommodation handed them far more money than normal just to have comfortable place to sleep.

Whilst the business and gold were welcome in the city, Whiterun's treasury had taken a great blow since the siege, rebuilding the homes that were destroyed, providing support to those who had been crippled or orphaned during the bloodshed as well as paying for the extra supplies to help put the city back on its feet and to pay for a festival worthy of the city. The greatest cost of all had been the sellswords hired to help make up for their lack of forces. Even though the surviving mercenaries had been payed in full, many of them continued to reside in the city, serving as guards to help keep order, especially during the festival when pickpockets, bar brawls and unrest were rife. Rhazaan, the man who had represented the sellsword contingent within the city, had been essential in organising and handpicking men and women whom he knew would be decent enough not to take bribes or abuse their positions of power. There had even been talk of the Rhazaan becoming a thane, though a few in the city scoffed and grumbled at the idea of a Redguard being granted such a proud Nord title. Many otheres liked to point out that the Dragonborn himself was not Nord either, and that if it were not for Rhazaan and his experience as a soldier for hire, there is a chance that the city would have fallen.

Though the risk of complete bankruptcy was high, many of the inhabitants were allowed to live in the ignorant bliss of the festival. Tourney grounds were set up outside the walls with warriors of all kinds and races fighting either in team or single battles. Breton Knights in their steel plate clashed swords Nord Housecarls in their iron and furs whilst the nimble Bosmer hunters in their leathers rolled out of the way of the hammers of Orc berserkers clad in thick layers of orichalcum armour. The crowds remained as fickle as always, cheering for their favourites only to change their tones when the favoured warrior was defeated and thus began cheering the new crowd favourite. Almost every fight ended in the two combatants removing their helms and shaking hands, many of them would go on to share a drink together, a few of them their beds. All was as it normally was at a festival, and it was hard or many of the visitors to believe that the city had been under siege mere months ago.

Whilst the plains district and the areas around the city became an ocean of visitors from near and far, the wind district was sealed off by the Jarl's personal guards. Whilst the city below them shouted, sung and cheered, all was quite around the Gildergreen as a crowd gathered around to watch as Olfina Grey-Mane wore a flowing white dress as she approached the foot of the ancient tree, where Jon Battle-Born waited with his sword as hit side, clad in full iron plate over furs with a red cloak hanging from his shoulders. The crowd around them included the Jarl and his retinue, the other members of the Battle-Born and Grey-Mane families, both close and distantly related, friends of the family and, on special invitation, Lydia Dragonhide, who dressed to everyone's surprise in a blue gown, though she would have been happy to wear a tunic, or even her dragon armour. And as all the gossipers had predicted she was not alone, for she had gathered up the courage to ask Darion to join her, and thus tradition called upon her and all other women to wear a dress where as the men were permitted to wear their armour. Though there was certainly no lack of women amongst the two families who were not dressed in full plate themselves, something not often seen in the lands outside of Skyrim. Darion stood beside Lydia, his dragonscale armour a site to behold almost as much as the bride. Over his shoulders he wore a jet black cloak with fur lining with his sword at his side. Though he had originally refused to wear the armour, the Jarl had insisted, as afterwards there would be much celebrating all throughout the city, and Balgruuf wanted to make certain that Darion could be recognised.

Olfina approached the foot of the Gildergreen, her smile wider than many had ever seen. It had been revealed during the siege that she and Jon had courted one another in secret, and that they had been in love since they were children. The lovers had agreed that the First Planting would be a perfect time for the two them to be wed, and their union would act as a symbolic ending to the strife that had existed between their two families. As the two of them stood before Erandur, a priest of Mara who presided over the ceremony, they did nothing but stare into one another's eyes as the Dunmer recited the scripture, speaking about the glory and purity of love, and how it would bind the two souls before him together in matrimony.

'Olfina of clan Grey-Mane,' Erandur spoke, 'Do you agree to take this man as your husband, to be bound together in love, now and forever?'

'I do,' Olfina answered, unable to stop herself from smiling, 'Now and forever.'

Erandur turned to Jon, 'And do you, Jon of clan Battle-Born, agree to take this woman as your wife, to be bound together in love, now and forever?'

'I do, now and forever.' Jon spoke.

Erandur raised his hands. 'Then by the will of Mara, Divine mother and goddess of Love, I join these two souls in matrimony, and I proclaim you husband and wife.' He lowered his hands smiling at Jon. 'You may kiss the bride.'

Jon's hands moved to hold Olfina's cheeks, pulling her into the kiss whilst the bride wrapped her arms around her new husband. The crowd broke their silence as they applauded and cheered the union of the two young people before them. Olfrid and Vignar, who stood beside one another, turned and shook hands, finally ending the division of their families as the two of them watched their children unite their families once more. Many of the other members of the Grey-Manes and the Battle-Borns embraced one another, all happy to put aside the past in light of the First Planting. It had always been said that the two clans had been close as kin since the founding of Whiterun, now there was no denying the now unbreakable bond that now made them one family.

'And to think,' Darion said as the cheering around grew louder, 'All it took was a little siege, a well placed arrow, a few happy words, and now the two oldest families in Skyrim are united once more. If I didn't know any better I would have said that someone shot that arrow at Olfina on purpose.'

'Only the gods know for sure,' Lydia answered, unable to take her eyes off of the spectacle. 'For all we know it was their hand that guided the arrow.'

'The gods work in mysterious ways, I wonder if they could start throwing the dice my way some time.'

'Perhaps if you tried praying sometimes they might,' Lydia noted. Though Darion wasn't a particularly religious man, he did to some degree acknowledge the existence of the gods.

'Most certainly, right after they give me an army and chance I need to take the Imperial City.'

'I don't think the gods work in those kinds of ways.'

'Then what good are they?' Darion asked with a smirk before the two of them began to move to the front of the crowd, towards Jarl Balgruuf, the families of the newlyweds as well as other nobility that had been invited. As he approached many made way for him, some going as far as to bow their heads. As he approached Jon and Olfina, Jon bowed his head whilst Olfina did her best to curtsey.

'There is no need for that,' he said, placing a hand on Jon's shoulder as Lydia arrived to stand beside him. 'There are no words to say how happy I am to see you two together as one. It was an honour to attend the ceremony.'

'The honour is all ours, Dragonborn,' Jon replied. 'I...we, are glad that the two of you were able to join us.' He looked to Lydia. 'It is especially an honour to have you here Lady Dragonhide, I hope that you know our door will always be open to you.'

Lydia bowed her head. 'You have my thanks, as well as my congratulations. I'm sure the two of you will live a long and happy life together.'

'If I have my say about it, which I do,' Olfina said, 'I'm never letting him pick up another sword for as long as we live.'

'Establishing who's in charge, good, best your man learns that now before he makes that mistake further down the road." Lydia laughed.

'I'm sure he-'

'Olfina!' a woman's voice called over top of all the commotion, most heads turned to see a woman in a red and black dress with a fur cloak and hood dashing through the crowd before throwing its arms around Olfina. Many of the men on both sides of the family went for their weapons, ready to defend the bride, but Olfina however raised her hands, stopping them before pulling back the hood of the intruder to find a Breton with blood red hair. The Nord woman began to laugh in delight and hugged the woman back whilst most just looked on in confusion.

'So sorry I couldn't make it to the ceremony, the city is like flies on shit if you'll pardon my language.' The woman said as she pulled away. The two continued to chat and giggle with one another whilst Lydia leaned over to Darion.

'Who is she?' she asked, her hand slowly shying away from the dagger hidden in the folds of her dress.

'It hasn't been that long Lydia, surely you recognise her.' He said with a smile.

It was only then that Lydia realised who stood before them. Though she wore a different outfit and her mood was now cheery and playful like that of a child, there was no mistake that Alyce Lachance, Listener to the Dark Brotherhood was embracing the bride like family, though that of a less murderous kind.

'What's she doing here?' Lydia hissed, still remembering the grip the assassins held her in the ruins of the Falkreath sanctuary.

'She was invited,' another voice answered and the two turned to see Arren Black-Arrow standing before them, though he was no different from the last time they saw him, still wearing leather armour and his dark green cloak. 'Alyce was friends of the Grey-Manes many years ago. She had already planned on attending the wedding before you ever approached us.'

'Are you her date then?' Darion teased.

'I am here to ensure she remains safe.'

'So in other words, her date.' Lydia noted with a smirk of her own, and she and Darion shared a grin when the Silencer failed to respond. He did however turn to Darion, ignoring their previous comments.

'I'm also here on your request, am I to assume that nothing has changed?'

'Indeed, we meet by the mead hall of the Companions an hour after noon,' he and Lydia looked to Alyce who continued to embrace and chat with Olfina excitedly. 'Be sure you're Mistress is there, else we will have to-' they both turned back to the Silencer, only to find that he had vanished.

'I hate it when they do that.' Lydia said.

'Be thankful that they are on our side, a dagger in a crowd like this is dangerous. Who knows how Black-Arrow even got past the guards.'

'On our side? Last time I checked you still hadn't paid them. If anything I'd say this is a truce.'

'Then let us be thankful it is a truce with us and not with our enemies.'

* * *

_**Sokat**_: Helsing references for days! Yeah I could not help myself, Helsing has to be one of my favourite bits of vampire fiction, and when writing that chapter I felt like a really needed to go to my dark place to write something so gruesome... So I went and marathoned Helsing :P Glad you like the Knight Brothers! They will be appearing again soon, I can promise that.

_**Luckenhaft**_: I'll never say I don't like vampires, but I really wanted to show just how violent one can become when forced to live off of blood. That's gotta drive some people batty...get it?

_**ShoutFinder**_: I remember as a kid that I went to a medieval fair once, and whilst playing Skyrim I always wondered what it would be like to have festivals. Not sure if there are already mods for it out there but I'd be tempted to get Skyrim for my PC if that were the case. Yeah I'm gonna try and incorporate some of these line break things, hopefully that will clear things up. Glad to know that you too enjoyed the Knight brothers. I felt as if they needed to have a Sherlock and Watson kind of conversation before s**t hit the fan. Those chain daggers as well were awesome to write in, I based them mostly off of the chinese rope dart, but I figured: what's cooler than a rope? chains! Yeah I wasn't sure about that whole broken leg thing either after I wrote it, at first I think i put it in there to show how tough she was, but then I figured it could have done with some tweaking.

**_CrazyHades_**: Indeed there is a reason good sir. I've recently started reading A LOT more Bernard Cornwall, who writes amazing historic fiction. He uses apostrophes instead of quotation marks, as do a number of other authors. Apologies if this confuses you, honestly I don't really see much of a difference.

_**Hey guys, been a while. Sorry for the lack of content, university is taking up a lot of my time, though I was lucky enough to get a bit of writing done whilst I had a week off in NZ. So between sky diving and fixing flat tires I was able to find some time to add a bit more to the story. Hopefully another chapter should be up soon, though I will make no promises due to the fact that my schedule is about to get even more busy. But be strong gentle readers, and soon we will have even more Will to Power, that I promise thee.**_

_**Catch ya later!**_

_**-xcaliber234**_


	15. Meetings of All kinds

'Will you relax mother?' Ingun sighed, 'The streets are full of people, I'm sure he is merely being delayed by the crowds.'

'When the so called "Hero of Skyrim" writes to you asking for a loan, relax is hardly the kind of think that I would advise.' Maven Black-Briar replied as she continued to relentlessly pace in front of the house. She had been told that the Dragonborn would meet her at his residence within the city, a filthy little cottage that the locals called Breezehome. The two of them stood out quite easily from the aesthetics of the cottage, with both wearing clothing that was probably worth more than the house itself. Maven wore her typical brown finery, whilst Ingun had opted for a more outgoing approach and wore a long loose fitting purple dress with various items of golden jewellery adorning her neck, fingers and wrists. Though the instructions Maven had received were to wait by the door she had been forced to wait away from the dwellings entrance as many visitors attending the festival left flowers, gifts and many other kinds of items outside the cottage. A select few individuals prayed before the house, most of them to Akatosh, giving thanks for blessing sending the Dragonborn to them in wake of the Dragon Crisis, whilst a few brave Nords delivered quick prayers to Talos, most of who believed that the Dragonborn of their time was a reincarnated Tiber Septim.

The two women of the Black-Briar family were not alone however, and it was only thanks to the two dozen mercenaries and an escort of guards from Riften that they were allowed to have any space at all to themselves. Since the journey from Riften, even up until she began waiting outside Breezehome, Maven had been wondering about what the Dragonborn could possibly want with loaned money. She imagined that he would be looking for help to finance some adventure or a mass dragon hunt or something along those lines. Though she would never show it on the outside, on the inside she was as excited as a group of fishwives exchanging gossip. She had had a long and interesting career to say the least, she could barely count how many times people had come to her looking for financing, she certainly lost count of how many disappointed her, and ended up "disappearing". Though she would never take a risk like that with the Dragonborn. The idea of a hero of Skyrim being indebted to her was something that occupied her thoughts the moment she had finished reading his letter to her.

It was not before long that the crowds began to part, and cheers erupted amongst the people. Maven fought back the temptation to jump slightly to catch a glimpse, though her daughter had no such restraint and leap as high as she could, her smile widening. Maven merely shot a glance at her and the action ceased, the young Black-Briar frowning slightly as she averted her gaze from her mother. Soon the crowds made way, and two figures walked towards the cottage, one clad in strange red and black spiked armour a black cloak hanging from his shoulders, no doubt the Dragonborn that Maven had heard so much about. The other wore a blue dress and from the way she walked alongside the Dragonborn with such familiarity, she could only be Lydia Dragonhide, the Dragonborn's former Housecarl, now a Thane of Whiterun herself. As the two approached the young man stopped, smiling at Maven before bowing his head in respect, an act that was mirrored by his companion.

'Jarl Black-Briar,' he said, 'An honour it is to make your acquaintance, this auspicious festival is made all the more delightful by your presence.'

'And you must be Thane Darion Octavius,' Maven responded, bowing her head though only slightly.

His attention quickly however deferred to Ingun, an act that Maven had to hide her disapproval of. Thane or not, he was still a commoner.

'The rumours of your beauty hardly do you justice, lady Ingun. I am honoured to see that such tales were not exaggerated.' He said with a smile that only grew as he watched the Jarl of Riften's daughter blush, though no one saw brief scowl that crossed Lydia's face.

'You flatter me sir,' Ingun replied shyly before turning to Lydia. 'Lady Dragonhide, it is an honour to make your acquaintance.'

'The same,' Lydia replied quickly, doing her very best to offer a smile.

'Now,' Darion said, 'How's about we go inside and get to business,' he asked, receiving a nod from Maven. 'Lady Ingun, will you be joining us?'

'I would rather leave you and my mother to your business Thane Darion. If my presence is not required mother I'd like to explore the festivities.'

Maven's beady eyes scanned her daughter for but a moment before she gave a small _hmph _accompanied by a nod. With one final bow of her head to Darion and Lydia the young Black-Briar made her way through the crowd, a retinue of mercenaries following her. As she disappeared from sight Darion turned to Maven and smiled.

'To business then?' he asked, motioning for the door.

* * *

As Maven entered his home, Arren suddenly realised, that despite all his planning, despite his plots schemes he had neglected to purchase a nicer house to live in. Breezehome had always been his home in Skyrim, gifted to him by the Jarl when he became a Thane. Yet it was only when Maven Black-Briar, one of the wealthiest, most powerful women in Skyrim, stepped into his home, he realised that he was still living in a peasants house. Besides various trophies he had taken from his adventures hanging up on the wall, there was nothing that distinguished his home from that of his neighbours. Though he wanted to keep up the visage of common birth, he knew that it would quickly become unfitting for him to live and operate out of what felt like two cottages stacked on top of each other like children's wooden building blocks. Needless to say he could certainly notice that the house was not what the matron of the Black-Briar family had been anticipating. Her cold calculative eyes scanned around the room, a slight but noticeable upturn of her lip easily giving away her disgust.

_A shame, _Darion thought, _I had been hoping for a challenge. I'll read her like a book that I've read a dozen times._

'Would you care to make your way into my study?' he asked, motioning to the back room. 'We can begin in there.'

The Jarl nodded before turning away and making her way further through the house. As she disappeared out of the room, followed by one of her mercenaries, the polite smile that had once adorned Darion's face quickly changed into a smirk.

'Find the girl, Ingun, ensure that she remains safe and secure,' he commanded Lydia without turning back to her. 'There is a lot riding on her.'

'And if I can't find her?' Lydia asked. 'There's a lot of people out there.'

'Yet there are only a handful in the city who will be accompanied by armed men who would make even you think twice about confronting them.'

'It's still a big city. Even you couldn't cover that much ground by the time a meeting with Maven finished, and you can slow down time by shouting.'

'I'm sure the crowds will be no trouble for you. The locals know you and will give you space, those who do not will surely have to part ways for such a rare beauty.'

Lydia was glad Darion did not turn to her, for he would see that she was blushing uncontrollably. 'Do you... really think so?'

'Of course, men will move mountains for women that look as you do.' He began making his way towards the study before stopping and looking over his shoulder at her. 'But yes... you do look beautiful in that dress.' He continued on towards his study, and did not turn back to her as he shut the door behind him.

Lydia said nothing, she only stood there and did her best to stop herself from grinning.

* * *

If it had not been for her guards Ingun would have been left drowning in a sea of bodies and faces. Though she would have preferred to have had the full shoulder to shoulder experience of the festival, she was glad to have some breathing space, especially as she noticed the looks that some men gave her, the look of men with a hunger for something they knew they could never have. It took an occasional grunt and shove to force the crowds out of their way but mostly just the sight of the men guarding Ingun was enough to create a path. She wasn't the only one who had her own personal escort, but her mother, as ever concerned with security as she was, ensured that Ingun had more than enough guards to hold a small keep. Many times she became the only one to stand at the stalls, other potential customers pushed aside as Ingun perused the various wares and souvenirs for sale whilst her guards formed a circle around her, their own eyes scanning the crowd for potential danger. Whilst the stall owners didn't mind this, as Ingun was clearly a woman who could afford what they had on offer, many of the people were not as happy about being shoved out of the way by the mercenaries or by being forced to wait as Ingun tried on, tasted or smelled everything in sight.

Soon, like most spirited youth like Ingun, she was looking for just a little more freedom than what her mother was giving her. It had been a substantial act of charity for Maven to bring Ingun with her to Whiterun and it was a rare act of trust that allowed Ingun to venture around the city on her own, or at the very least without her family. It did not take long, nor did it take much effort for her to lose her escort. A gasp and a mad rush for one piece of jewellery and a purposeful journey into the thick of the crowds later and she found herself finally walking free of her guards, wandering from stall to shop, street vender to troubadour. She allowed herself a wide grin at the thought of how terrified the mercenaries were feeling as they thought how best to tell Maven Black-Briar that they had had let her daughter get out of sight. She soon found herself taking a small break from the flow of the crowds and the sights of the festival, leaning against the wall of an alley, apple in hand, her eyes casually watching over the crowds, happy to finally be away from the chains of her mother's sheltering. It however did not take long for her presence to attract the wrong kind of attention.

They had come from out of the crowd, at first Ingun had not noticed them, but as they approached she was able to tell that their gaze was set upon her, their path leading straight towards her. A hooded figure, their face obscured in shadow, the rest of their body hidden under a simple brown cloak. The rest of the crowd, even the few guards that patrolled the grounds could not see this, and Ingun knew it. She turned away from her follower, retreating down into an alley, away from the crowds. Her first thought as she quickened her pace was how foolish she had been for not staying with her guards, even if she had ordered them to keep back a distance to give her some breathing room and she would still be protected.

As she peered over her shoulder to find the stranger still in pursuit, her heart began to race in her chest, and as her pace quickened she could hear that of her pursuers behind her quicken as well. Soon she found herself running, and her fear grew to new heights as she heard the flapping of a cloak, indicating that the stranger was no longer trying to hide who they were after. Yet it was as she ran it began to dawn on her. The alley did not branch off into multiple adjoining paths that snaked through the city streets. The alley was a dead end, the end of her path leading only to a blank wooden wall

But she was a Black-Briar, and no member of her family was ever prepared to meekly succumb to their fate. With her back still turned to the approaching stranger, she reached into the folds of her dress, drawing out a long slender knife. It was not meant for cleaving or slashing, but one quick jab to the right place, to the right artery, and no man could live long. Alchemy may have taught her about the effects that different ingredients had on different parts of the body, but her learning had also lead her to learn the vital points in humans, elves and beast races. One jab to the arm pit would cause almost unstoppable bleeding. A solid strike to where the ribs met would temporarily stun any human or elf. At that moment she was no longer the young woman who had lived a life of wealth and plenty with a thirst for knowledge in the field of alchemy, she was a woman ready to defend herself by any means necessary.

'Come any closer,' she said calmly before rapidly turning on her heel, knife in the air, 'and I'll cut your bloody balls of-!'

She was silenced by a hand clasping itself over her mouth, the strangers other hand grabbing her wrist, keeping the knife well away from them. She was not prepared for the strength of the stranger's grip, or for the shove that forced her against the wall. She was unable to scream, both in part to the fact that she was too afraid alongside the fact that she was too proud. All she could do was stare at what she could see of the stranger's face, which was a pair of soft lips forming a familiar smirk. The stranger slowly removed their gloved hand from her mouth, before reaching back and pulling down their hood. Long locks of brown hair fell down to the stranger's shoulders, a pair of green eyes staring into Ingun's own, which widened in surprise then into confusion, and then finally into happiness.

'That'll be a bit hard,' Artemis said with a smile. 'There's nothing down there, you know that more than anyone.'

The dagger fell from Ingun's hand, and Artemis' grip around her wrist disappeared as the young Imperial pulled Ingun towards her before planting her lips on hers. They stood there for a while like this, their arms slowly wrapping around each other as they continued to share in the kiss. They soon parted for air, smiling at each other, Ingun even going as far as giggling.

'Is this some kind of new foreplay?' she asked. 'If so I'd ask if we do it with a bed in sight next time just so I know that I'm not in danger.'

Artemis laughed before planting a soft kiss on Ingun's neck. 'It could be if you wanted it to be,' she whispered, as she continued to kiss down her neck and towards her collarbone, causing Ingun to sigh happily.

'As much as I'd love to have this continue,' she said as she softly pushed Artemis away, 'I think you should wait till we can find ourselves a room.'

The young thief shrugged. 'Wouldn't be the first time we've played around in an alley.'

'True,' Ingun said biting her lip at the memory, 'But that was back in Riften, where you can wave your hand and the whole market place will empty for you.' The stood in silence for a moment before Ingun leaned in, softly kissing Artemis once more before withdrawing, the two of them smiling. 'So, what brings you to Whiterun, besides the view?'

'Work, I'm afraid,' Artemis said with a roll of her eyes. 'I've got a meeting a in a few hours. There's all the fat purses laying around too, but then I saw something more worth my time than any jewel.'

It was Ingun's turn to roll her eyes. 'You flatterer. Well at least you were smart enough to cover up that guild armour of yours. The guards will be out in force looking for its like during the festival.'

'It was hard enough to get into the city wearing this damned cloak, had to pay off at least three guards before they'd let me in. I have no idea how my brother does it.'

'When he walks around he has the air of a man who no one should bother, guard or otherwise,' Ingun said, picturing Arren in her head. 'You've just got the air of someone looking to start trouble,' she ran a finger lightly over Artemis' lower lip. 'I speak from experience.'

'I should think so,' Artemis said, trying to kiss the tip of Ingun's finger. 'I learned from the best.'

The two of them shared a small giggle before kissing once more. Once more they remained there for some while, time becoming meaningless as they stood in each other's arms. They soon parted once more, again on Ingun's insistence.

'I best be getting back, mother will be finishing her meeting with Thane Octavius soon.'

Artemis' brow raised at hearing the Dragonborn's name. 'Darion?' she asked.

'You know him?' Ingun replied. The thief was slow to answer, too slow, and Ingun knew straight away that she was being kept in the dark about something, an occurrence she was well accustomed to since the two of them became lovers. 'Artemis, how do you know-'

'Lady Black Briar?' a woman's voice called, and the two of them quickly parted, turning back up the alley to see a woman in a blue dress coming towards them.

'Thane Lydia,' Ingun greeted. 'What a coincidence running into y-'

'I believe your guards are looking for you,' Lydia cut her off, not taking her eyes off of Artemis, who glared at her. 'Your mother would be most concerned if she found out that you left your escort to wander the festival with... less favourable company.'

Ingun looked between Lydia and Artemis, and her suspicions about her lover and the Dragonborn were confirmed. She knew now but their paths had crossed at some point, though for better or for worse she did not know.

'Forgive me, I must be off,' she said, straitening up her dress before moving away back out of the alley. Without intending to, Artemis broke her gaze with the Thane to watch Ingun go. She quickly realised however what she had been doing and she quickly turned back to the Dragonborn's Companion.

'You're the Assassins' sister, aren't you?' Lydia asked.

'Is that any of your business?' Artemis shot back.

'No,' the Thane replied calmly. 'But that girl and her family is. I would remind you that you signed a pact with Darion, one not easily broken.'

'I am the last person in Skyrim you need to give a lecture to when it comes to contracts and the like,' the thief spat. 'And need I remind you, my pact of non-aggression is with the Dragonborn, not with his lover.'

'We're not-!' Lydia stopped herself, though she could not stop the anger burning behind her eyes, or the blush that quickly took hold of her cheek.

Artemis smiled at this. 'You're not are you?' she asked, giggling lightly to herself. 'I think we both know that's not how you would wish it to be, isn't that right?' Her smile turned into a smirk as she watched the Thane restrain herself from striking the Nightingale. The young Nord had passion that was certain, but her duty to the Dragonborn was unquestionable. She would not do anything to endanger his pact with the Thieves Guild, and Artemis knew it.

'Cheer up though Dragonhide,' Artemis said, moving past her, Lydia refusing to watch her leave. 'It might happen someday. After all, he said you look beautiful in that dress didn't he?'

Lydia's eyes widened and as she turned to face the Imperial girl she raised her fists, ready to strike her. Yet when she turned to teach the young thief a lesson, there was no one in the alley but her. There was no way she could have run back into the crowd that fast, nor climbed onto the rooftops without making so much as a sound. It seemed as if the Guildmaster had quite literally disappeared. Slowly she lowered her fists, though she did not relax for a second.

'The Assassins' sister for certain,' she said, before making her own way back into the crowd and back towards Breezehome.

* * *

**ShoutFinder: **_Damn straight, dem rope darts are so cool! I've done a bit of martial arts, but nothing I've done could ever compare to the amount of skill needed for some of the moves I've seen people pull off with those things._

_I assume by down south we mean Ulfric, in which case, you will have to wait and see. Darion has plans in mind, and I have plans in mind that Darion could never even think of happening!_

_Yeeeaahh I know, I always get quite embarrassed re-reading over stuff and finding mistakes like that. I know it's not really professional, and like you said it draws away from the story, but sometimes I just can't wait to post another chapter, or I'm up late (kinda like I am now writing this response to you at 2am on a Sunday night :P) and I just think to myself "...Should be alright! Now let's post it and go to sleep!" I tried a little harder with this chapter, even fought through an unexplained headache to notice I almost wrote clock instead of cloak._

_As for NZ yeah I was there for the whole flag debacle. Me personally I'm fine with the same old same old. I've got family in NZ so I'm over there enough and a part of the country to tell the difference between their flag and the Aussie one, but hey if they voted to change it to the black with the fern I would have had no problem with it... GO ALL BLACKS!_

_Was actually too busy seeing the world as only a dovah can, got to make my first skydive over Wanaka! I highly recommend it!_

**Trap3r: **_Ave Imperator! Roma Invicta!_

_Who needs thrones when you have dragons :D_

**Sir Vahlok:** _Perhaps haha. Mostly I just put that in because I thought, what else do they sell at festivals or stalls. I live near the beach so we occasionally get people selling seafood. And I love Game of Thrones so I thought, hey, you know what'd be cool? An Arya quote! You keeping track of the new season?! I know I have! New Episode tomorrow at 11am! And I don't have to go to classes tomorrow so I can watch it live! _

**Guest: **_Yeah, well, that's just like, ah, your opinion, man. Nah but seriously though, clearly something isn't right about this story to you, so do you reckon you'd like to give some actual criticism and tell my why it's bad instead of just saying its bad. I appreciate that you think its well written, cheers for that. I'm thinking I kinda get where you're coming from about Darion. I haven't gone into a lot of detail about him, or haven't really given him as a strong presence in the story as he probably needs. I feel that's my error in the fact that as the writer I'm already familiar with him, and there is so much about him I do not want to reveal that I end up revealing not enough about his character. Not sure what you meant by "Your Planning! God! (Can't stop myself from thinking you look like Napoleon Dynamite because of that though, sorry but I just can't help it :D) Seriously though mate, send me a message or something, let me know what ails you. All the best mate._

**The One Who Reads Too Much: **_I know what you mean mate, I try to set myself out rules for how to use all the different symbols and fonts and whatnots. After seeing apostrophes used used in a lot of the books I've read recently I can't help but feel do it now._

_I would get it, I'm just not sure if my computer can handle it. I've only got the laptop, and whilst that can run games pretty well (I.E I can run Ark Survival Evolved pretty well,) I'm not sure whether or not it could handle Skyrim and all the mods I'd get for that, which would be mostly texture mods and lighting mods and a Dragon Armour Mod for Odahviing which has (SPOILERS) inspired a lot when it comes to this story :D_

* * *

**_Hey there everyone! It's been a while I suppose and the only excuse I can give you is: University. Turns out when you're studying film you actually have to put your head down! Who'dve thought! But yes things have been quite busy for me, and honestly it's quickly becoming difficult to find time to write this or any of my own original work (Which I've been wanting to put more time into considering I'm wanting to get it published some day). Either way, I wanted to get this chapter up as quick as I could, it's been sitting on my computer for a while just begging me to finish it. Honestly I had thought the scene with Ingun and Artemis was gonna go waaaay different. I had this whole part written up how it was actually some guys who follow Ingun into the alley and Artemis ends up saving Ingun. But then I thought, I'm already hinting at other blossoming romances (At least I try to) so I figured, hey, you guys know so little about Artemis besides the fact that her brother is an Assassin, lets have it that this relationship has been a thing for quite some time. Wasn't just a spur of the moment thing though, I planned from the start that I wanted Artemis to have "interactions" with Ingun. At first I thought I'd make it a one time thing, but then I thought to myself, hey, you know what's awesome? Love! I've been there before, I've felt it, and it awesome, so why not let some of my characters have it for a change instead of only teasing at it._**

**_Either way I'll try to get the next part up as quick as a I can, and finally...FINALLY I can get this whole loan thing with Maven sorted. Mindful though, there may be a bit of a wait with this next one. I realise that I'm not really getting anywhere very quickly with these smaller chapters, so the next one is going to be massive! And I mean MASSIVE! We are gonna get shit done in this next chapter! The wheels are gonna start turning, and I'm gonna reveal to you guys just what kind of man Darion really is. Because I know I've shown that he is willing to bring assassins and thieves to his side to accomplish his goals, but now I'm gonna show you all just how far he is willing to go to get what he wants._**

**_Until then, I've been xcaliber234, you have been my awesome and most fantastic readers. _**

**_Hope you all have a good one!_**


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